


Closure

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Dom Natasha Romanov, Dom/sub, F/M, Flogging, Grief/Mourning, Knifeplay, Mortal Loki, Self-Hatred, Sub Loki (Marvel), Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: I don't wanna hurt you but you live for the painI'm not tryna say it but it's what you becameYou want me to fix you but it's never enoughThat's why you always call me cause you're scared to be loved





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Oh, how I missed the naughty, naughty things to write about, and I'm sure you have too. The world needs more sub!Loki and domme Natasha. ;)
> 
> Title and summary from The Weeknd's "Shameless." That should tell you right there how this is going to track.

The first time had been an accident.

Over the course of a fight where Loki's magic had been neutralized by an Asgardian artifact, he had become bound in a length of industrial chain. There had been some kind of spell active before Thor had brought the artifact, so Tony had handed it to Natasha. She was sure that his expression would've been harried if his face place was up. "This was too easy," came his tinny voice through the armor's speaker. "I smell a trap. You're good at seeing through his bullshit, so you keep him here while we sort out the rest of his mess."

It was nice to be trusted, so she had nodded and Tony had left with Thor, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Vision. The odd-looking artifact was some kind of ivory rod with runes carved into it. It was shorter than a quarterstaff, more like one of her batons without the handle sticking out of its side. It fit in her baton holster neatly, and she hit the baton into the palm of her other hand with a soft _thwap._

"Considering how often we find ourselves in this position," she had purred, unable to stop herself from gloating just this once, "one would think that you enjoy being tied up."

Loki had snorted and rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't?"

The way he shifted his kneeling stance seemed familiar in a different way, so she reached out with her booted foot and widened the space between his knees. His nostrils flared and lips pressed tighter together as he tilted his head away from her, but there was no mistaking the bulge rising between his thighs. Natasha kept her expression still and rubbed it with the edge of her boot, making him draw in his breath with a pained hiss.

"There are easier ways to ask for this, you know," she said in a conversational tone. "There's no need to stage some kind of battle because you want to be tied up." His cock jerked inside of his trousers, and his breath hitched in his chest. "And if you want more," she purred, rubbing his cock a little harder as she tilted his chin with her baton, "there are ways to arrange that, too."

"You think me desperate?" he hissed, eyes flaring with anger.

"Who else touches you willingly?" she asked, still rubbing his cock. He had grown thinner since she had last seen him, with darker shadows under his eyes than before. Wherever he was in between needling the Avengers, he wasn't taking care of himself. Idly, she wondered if he thought he even deserved it.

Loki hissed something she didn't understand, but his increased frustration made her think that it was a spell that failed. She pressed harder with her boot, less of a caress and more of a painful pinch. There was a soft noise deep in his throat then, but it didn't sound like he objected to the motion. If anything, he seemed to like it even better.

Interesting.

She pushed her baton into the underside of his jaw, forcing him to tilt it up to look at her at an uncomfortable angle. He bared his teeth at her, eyes glittering as if daring her to do more to him than she already was.

Smiling pleasantly, she stepped on his thigh, her heel grinding down into his erection. He yelped and strained against the chains, bright spots of color rising in his too-pale cheeks.

Oh, yes, he _liked_ this.

"There are ways to negotiate for this. To ask for what you want. Or need."

Teeth still bared at her, he jerked his jaw away from the baton. Natasha could only assume that he was ashamed of this need, that he got pleasure out of pain and bondage. Or did he get pleasure out of humiliation? Pondering that for a moment, she mentally shook her head. No, a would-be king and ruler of realms wouldn't want to be humiliated. He would want to be praised and needed, he would want to be important.

And he wouldn't know how to ask for anything. No Asgardian ever _asked_ for something, let alone a crown prince of the realm that had thought he was skilled and worthy of more than being bound and imprisoned.

Yet he enjoyed it, too. Oh, the delicious irony.

"You're going to think about this," Natasha said, her voice low and menacing. "You're going to memorize every detail." Her heel dug down again, making him groan and jerk his hips. The movement wasn't away from the pain, however. Oh, no, he thrust his hips up, making the pain sharper. Loki's breath was a sharp pant, eyes dark with the need he couldn't voice. "You're starved for touch," Natasha continued, running the baton along the sharp line of his jaw, lips quirking into a grimace of a smile that had made Hydra agents scurry from her in fear. "If no one will touch you in kindness, then you'll take the touch of pain. You'll take it if it's all you can get, all you think you deserve."

He lunged forward, teeth bared and snapping as if he wanted to bite out her throat. She had reacted instantly, however, leaping back and twisting her wrist so that the baton shoved his jaw sharply away from her.

Overbalanced, Loki crashed forward in an ungainly sprawl at Natasha's feet. He made a soft choking sound, but otherwise didn't say anything.

"You're off your game, Loki," Natasha said, voice cold and cutting, measured to flay his pride at the seams. "This was too easy."

"You assume I have no plans," Loki said, not turning his head or looking up from his sprawled position. It had to be painful, but he bore it stoically. "You assume this wasn't all part of the game, that I didn't mean for this to happen."

She smiled, amused at the bravado. "Sometimes, you put yourself out there for the sake of a longer play. I'll give you that." She was very aware of that tactic, having seen him use it and using it herself. "But this? I can tell. You don't have an endgame. There's no larger plan."

"So sure of yourself, mortal?" he sneered.

"Have you forgotten? I've beaten you at your own game."

Now he twitched, lifting his head slightly and trying to shift to look at her. "I forget nothing," he hissed, rage in his gaze. _"Nothing,"_ he repeated, spittle flying from his lips.

"So you came here to lose on purpose?" she asked, a playful note to her voice. Needling him, pushing him, trying to find his breaking point.

Loki snarled something in what had to be Allspeak. Natasha probably should have asked Thor for language lessons, but there hadn't been time for that before. She only arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure that was hardly polite," she began, shrugging. "But no matter. You're in chains, your magic is blocked, and you can't change that."

His reply was cut off by the sound of the others returning. Tony let out a low whistle that sounded a bit tinny through the armor's speakers. "Was Horns a naughty boy while we were away?" he snarked.

Thor seemed pained by the comment, his hand tightening on Mjolnir. "Please, Tony."

"I _was_ being nice," Tony protested.

"He was," Sam acknowledged. Even Steve agreed, though he still sighed in exasperation.

"He can't be let loose," Wanda said, looking at him in concern. "This is the fifth time in as many months that he has tried to cause harm."

Natasha lifted the small runic staff out of her baton holder, switching places with the baton in her hand. "I don't suppose Asgard has any secure facilities for him?"

Loki snarled something else in Allspeak, and Thor blanched. "It will not hold him," he said heavily. "There will be no peace. The last time..." Thor sighed. "Mother had been there as a comfort and keeper."

Striding toward Wanda in three steps, Natasha held out the staff. "So what can you do with this?"

Wanda stared at the staff, then her mouth dropped open as she looked at Natasha. "As in, you want _me_ to build a prison the Asgardians can't?"

"Chaos magic, you said," Natasha told her briskly. "Loki is a creature of chaos, so that should mean your magic affects him."

Thor actually looked a little sick and turned away from them as Wanda gingerly touched the staff in Natasha's outstretched hand. "Magic is..." Thor sighed and started again, still not facing either of them, Mjolnir clutched in a white knuckled grip.

"It's taken seriously on your world," Steve said, voice as grave and earnest as it ever was. "I don't think Natasha is saying that we're going to do him harm."

"If Asgard can't hold him, something has to be done," Natasha said, matching Steve's tone of voice. She looked from Wanda to Steve and then to Thor. "Whether because they really can't or just _won't,_ it's not my place to say. But there's too much at risk to let things stay the way they are now. Sending him back to Asgard only means we're doing this again next month."

Tony heaved a dramatic sigh. "As much as I kind of enjoy the ass kicking date, I would much rather have my date nights with Pepper than out in the boonies with you guys."

Thor shot Tony an exasperated look, then turned toward Loki, still bound on the floor. He had been silent during the exchange. "We cannot trust you, Loki. It still pains me to say so."

Loki let out a disbelieving huff, but otherwise remained silent.

"Do what you must," Thor told Wanda heavily. "Please don't harm him if you can avoid it."

"None of us would ever do that," Steve assured Thor, clasping his arm and squeezing it in support. "You know us. We're just trying to help and keep things safe."

"I think I know how this can be done," Wanda murmured, taking the staff in one hand. The fingers of her other hand curled around it, tracing some of the runes. Her gaze flicked toward Loki, who had gone very still. "Not a prison cell, exactly. There are always ways to escape if you put your mind to it. But there is one prison that can never be escaped."

Loki twisted to stare up at her, eyes wide in disbelief and fear. Natasha managed not to smile in the face of that abject terror.

Thor looked from Loki to the others. "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't something I'm going to like?" he asked.

"It's himself," Wanda said gently, tapping one of her rings on the staff. "Bind his magic, keep him from working—"

The howl of rage from Loki startled everyone, and despite the chains he attempted to lunge at Wanda before she could do anything. She skipped back, mouth and eyes widening in her surprise, hands going slack.

Natasha lunged forward as she moved, grabbing the staff as it slipped through her fingers. She swept it in a wide circle, connecting with Loki's temple in one graceful arc.

Once he collapsed on the floor, struck unconscious by the blow, Natasha held out the staff with both hands toward a shaken Wanda. "You know what you need to do," she said, voice incongruously gentle after the sudden violence. "Before he wakes up and tries to hurt anyone else again," she added rather unnecessarily.

Thor heaved a pained sigh and nodded when Wanda looked at him uncertainly, biting her lip. "She's right, you know. I might not like the idea, but there is simply no other way. Loki cannot be trusted, and he's too wily to remain locked away for long. He'll still be dangerous without his magic, but that takes away one of his primary weapons." Thor touched his side a little self consciously, lips twisting as if he was tasting something sour. "We can handle his work with blades. Those are ordinary weapons."

"We keep him with us," Steve said, clapping Thor on the back. "SHIELD can't hold him, not when they've failed before."

"I suppose I feel somewhat better about that," Thor said, looking at Loki's bound form. A red halo had risen around Wanda's hands, and the staff was glowing so brightly it hurt to look at directly. "But he can manipulate his way around us."

"Not Natasha," Tony piped up. "She figured him out pretty easily the first time we fought."

"And she's quick to take him down if he needs to be," Sam pointed out, gesturing toward Loki as if they needed a reminder. "I don't think _anybody_ can pull a fast one on her."

Natasha gave him a gracious nod, more like a queen regally accepting her due. "Feel better about it now, Thor?" she asked.

"I suppose." He gave her a wan smile. "I don't doubt you, of course. I suppose... I thought I would have done with all of this. That there were no further emotions he would wring out of me when I least expected it."

"Nobody can hurt you quite like family," Tony agreed solemnly with a nod. He opened the faceplate to his armor and there was a sympathetic expression on his face. "Lemme take you out for drinks while they do the witching stuff."

"Your spirits have no effect on me," Thor chided, but there was the beginning of a smile on his face. "And I don't think you need further excuse to drink."

"Oh, no," Tony said, injecting some false cheer into his voice. His expression fooled no one. "But hey, no one ever said I didn't give it the old college try."

Natasha stayed at Wanda's side while the others drifted off to return to the new Avengers complex in upstate New York. She watched as Wanda moved and mumbled slightly under her breath, even though the motions in her hands made no sense as far as Natasha could tell. Wanda didn't do spells the way they did in movies, with words or charms or a wand waved about with a dramatic flair. It was concentration and force of will, and the movement seemed to be the way that Wanda could communicate her intent with the world around her.

The runic staff didn't seem to exist any longer, swallowed up by the brilliant red of Wanda's magic. "I don't know what I'm doing," Wanda hissed, hands curled as if cupping a massive ball of invisible fluff between them. One of her knees buckled, and Natasha quickly grasped her arm to help her up. The hairs on her arm were on end, as if she was in the midst of a huge burst of static, and she could feel a chill run down her spine.

"I trust you," Natasha said firmly. "You are capable of so much, and you can do this."

The only thing really holding Wanda back in fight practice was her own fear. She didn't know the full extent of her power, didn't know how to test it or truly manipulate it. She feared how far she could take things, and didn't know if she could trust herself enough to pull back. Hearing that Natasha was confident in her skills helped, because Wanda sucked in a deep breath, tilted her shoulders back, then _pushed_ forward with her hands.

The invisible fluff and the brilliant red ball of light seemed to be shoved directly into Loki's body. It jerked and spasmed within the chains for several long and terrifying minutes, then he once again lay still.

He was breathing, and only time would tell if it worked.

***

Everything ached. Loki didn't open his eyes, not yet, not until he could assess what was happening to him. The last time he had hurt like this... Well, it wasn't anything he hadn't deserved at the time, was it? Or any of the others, really.

He tried to reach out with his magic to get a sense of the space around him. The aches and pains prevented him from being able to tell much more than he was lying on something soft, and the air around him smelled clean but impersonal. There were no hums of noise, not even the whoosh of recycled air or a distant ship engine.

There was nothing. No magic, no enhanced senses, _nothing._

Loki's eyes shot open and he tried to get up. Tried, because his body moved sluggishly and didn't quite obey his commands properly. Instead of rising to a sitting position to look around, his torso flopped over and he fell out of the bed. He groaned as pain shot through him; the floor was not much more than a concrete slab, and there was no carpeting.

This was a cell of some kind, it had to be. It was neutralizing his magic somehow, like the spell runestaff that Thor had brought from Asgard, likely from his moth— _Frigga's_ collection in the warded towers of the palace that she forbade all others to enter.

Oh, what did it matter if he called her mother in his own mind? That's who she was and always would be, as much as he used his words to wound and cut her down so that she could experience even the smallest fraction of the pain he had felt. She betrayed him, they all did, but it was cruelest from her because she had always known how different he felt, how much of a lifeless shadow behind Thor, and she had known why. Never once did she seek to tell him the truth of it, never once giving him even the smallest shred of comfort to alleviate the pain.

Frigga knew the truth, knew what he deserved. A small, helpless noise deep his throat escaped him, but at least there was no one there to listen.

Scratch that. A slight hiss behind him sounded like depressurization of a ship's airlock. Someone had to have been keeping an eye on him, and falling out of bed without making any apparent effort to get up probably made them think he was going to harm himself. That wasn't in his nature, but some distant part of him embraced the pain. It was what he deserved, after all. The foolish mortals couldn't truly inflict the amount of damage that he ought to have, but this would have to do. A piss poor substitute, but it might hold him over until he found strength enough to get back into the galaxy. Fighting worlds might give him the oblivion he craved.

Strange, how the Other once told him there would be a time he would crave something as sweet as pain. Loki had thought him disillusioned or insane after being under Thanos' rule. But there was something to those words, a truth that Loki didn't exactly want to face.

Pain led to truth, to the core of who he was and would ever be. Every face he wore was a lie, every sound that dropped from his lips another brick in the wall separating him from everyone else. Loki was a monster, and he had accepted that truth. It hurt, but there was clarity in that kind of hurt, a dull ache echoing in the emptiness of his chest where his heart should have been.

But monsters didn't have hearts. They were hollow creatures, soulless, heartless, guiltless, merciless, worthless.

Hands rolled him over and lifted him into a seated position. Humiliating to be subject to such a thing, and he opened his eyes when fingers touched his throat to assess his pulse.

His pale blue eyes stared into piercing green ones. Hair the color of fire, skin pale as his. The Black Widow, the master manipulator, one even better at sliding in between lies than he was, the one that still had a heart beating inside a flayed chest, baring her soul to sink her teeth into his throat when he least expected it.

He shouldn't, but he admired that in her and wished he possessed the same skill. But he couldn't become something else, couldn't play to whatever others expected of him. He rebelled against such things. He was Loki. Of Jotunheim, of Asgard, of the Galaxy... It didn't matter, did it? He belonged nowhere and to nobody. He was his own self, whatever that was, whoever he was, and no one else laid claim to him.

That truth cut him deepest of all.

"You're alive," she said, voice brisk and impersonal. Her eyes flicked over his sprawled form, the gangly limbs and listless expression he must have had. "Magic must have been so ingrained into you for the suppression to have this kind of effect."

Loki would have laughed if he had the energy for it. Of course it had been. He had been cursed and bound in this form soon after birth, had he not? How else could Odin have tricked him and everyone else on Asgard so thoroughly than to bind the spells into his very bones? Frigga would have known how to do it, likely did the spell work herself. She was gifted, after all. She knew all of the all the _ørlögs_ of the _wyrd._ If she wanted to, she could bend all of time and space to her will, twist it into knots, reshape the essence of living beings, and make them all love her for it.

It was what she did to him, after all.

Turning his head slightly made it flop to the side in an ungainly fashion. Thor stood in the doorway with a stricken expression, and Wanda squeezed past him, ducking under his arm, to enter the room and kneel beside Loki to assess the extent of the magic spell. "Now you see me, brother. Enjoy the view," Loki said, words slurred as if he was drunk enough to pass out. The thought was so absurd, he couldn't help but choke on his bitter laughter, a drunken-sounding bubble of loathing and frustration.

Natasha slapped him sharply, expression still impassive. It was a sharp burst of pain, something to focus on, and yes, oh yes, he absolutely deserved it for being so cruel to his brother. She was his friend, after all, and she would protect him with every fiber of her being. Everyone else did, after all. Thor was the shining one, the god of thunder, the golden boy of Asgard. All Loki had was his identity as the prince of lies.

Her assessing gaze seemed to rake through him. "That got him connected a bit," she said, no tone whatsoever in her voice. How had she learned that trick? She had to show it to him. Maybe his acid tongue could make it work, though he wasn't sure he was capable of it.

"Suppressing his magic shouldn't leave him like this," Wanda murmured. She lifted her hands and closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly so that she could concentrate. Her palms seemed to glow, a soft hazy red that looked like the dying embers of a fire. It was a comforting color, and Loki wondered if his flesh would char and glow in similar fashion.

"I think I know what happened," Wanda said after a moment. "I didn't know about these other spells in there, how they were tied together. I think. It's hard to explain."

"But you can fix it," Natasha said.

"I can fix it."

"Then please do," Thor said, sounding pained and close to tears.

No, that couldn't be right. Thor said he would kill Loki. He said he would drive all the monsters away, and every realm would be safe from his taint. Thor said—

Pain arced through him, jolting his entire body. Loki's eyes squeezed shut, and he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his cries. He wouldn't let them know how he suffered, how the glorious silence descended on his mind as Wanda reworked the spells she had woven too tightly around him, how the sensation _finally_ quieted the ravenous need inside of him.

When he was unable to take any more of the exquisite sting, he gasped, the only sound he would willingly give them. It was more than they deserved.

It was more than he could take, and he passed out, falling into Natasha's arms.

***

It had been disconcerting to see Loki so helpless as he was sprawled on the floor. His pulse was steady, and Natasha could see that he was still in possession of all his faculties. Without the onslaught of words to get in the way, she could see the way his eyes tightened fractionally, or the part of his lips. Speaking was difficult for him, but he was still very much capable of thinking. His thoughts likely took dark turns every which way he went, to judge by the way his pulse leapt beneath her fingers at odd intervals, and it worsened when he tried to needle Thor.

The slap across his face was light, the intent to shock and not harm. His pupils dilated as he fixed his attention on her, and it occurred to her that a Loki without his magic was a very pliant, almost drunken thing. He was more alert now, more focused on her, and his pulse steadied but remained fast. Not anxiety, then. Not a panic attack making this even more difficult.

"That got him connected a bit," she said, and the anxiety on Thor's face eased a bit. As much as Loki had burned him every chance he got, Thor still remembered the boy Loki had been once upon a time. Those had been fond memories, and it was hard to let go of them no matter how many times Loki betrayed him.

Poor Wanda, already shaken with the enormity of the spells she had cast, now looked as though she wanted to cry and wring her hands. Natasha beckoned her into the room with a sharp tilt of her head. The first thing she did was assess the magic damage, such as it was, but she still needed a confidence boost. There was no manual for magic, Natasha knew that much, but Wanda had to trust her instincts more. They existed for a reason, after all.

"I think I know what happened," Wanda said. Natasha was proud of her; she was able to push past her discomfort and look at the magic dispassionately to assess the best course of action. She had to take credit for that one, because Hydra scientists had no discipline whatsoever and had no sense of training. While it was for the best, the loss of the Red Room meant that there were no skilled teachers left in any of the shadow organizations.

"I didn't know about these other spells in there, how they were tied together. I think," Wanda said, her eyes squeezing even tighter shut as she tried to think. The red tendrils of power around her hands didn't waver in the slightest. "It's hard to explain."

"But you can fix it," Natasha said. She didn't need to know how magic worked, just that it would, and gently touched the back of Wanda's shoulder to ground her.

The fact that Natasha had used a statement bolstered Wanda's confidence. Her shoulders straightened up, and her chin lifted, even though her eyes were still closed. They weren't clenched quite as tightly now, and her voice didn't waver. "I can fix it."

"Then please do," Thor said. There was that desperate thread in his voice, and Natasha shot him a compassionate look. It was never easy to take the right path, and it must have been tempting to simply tell Wanda to leave Loki suffering.

Natasha wasn't caught by surprise when the seizurelike activity started. It was clearly painful, likely akin to stab wounds or gut shots, but woven all throughout his body. Loki was as stoic as he could possibly be in this situation, but finally gasped and whimpered like a child before collapsing in her arms.

Wanda was concerned but not distraught, so it had to have gone well. "I'll stay here and keep watch," Natasha offered when Wanda opened her mouth to speak. "Why don't you rest?" she told her, voice softening. "This had to have taken a lot out of you."

She nodded gratefully, and accepted Thor's help in getting to her feet. "It's strong magic, and it just..." Her hands fluttered uselessly. "Like a headache. Pressure in my mind as I try to shape the spells. But the rest of me feels so tired, too."

"That's a migraine," Natasha said with a rueful smile. "Definitely not fun. Maybe taking a nap will help take the edge off. That usually works for mine."

Wanda sent her a grateful smile, and Thor closed the door, leaving Natasha alone with Loki. He was passed out in her lap, but she didn't dare think he wasn't a threat. Of all people, she knew what desperate people were capable of if pushed to their limits.

For a long time, she simply stayed seated on his floor, one arm on top of Loki's chest as he lay across her lap. With her legs stretched out and acting as his pillow, she could sit for as long as it took for the magic effects to settle. His breathing was even, and his eyes didn't even flutter under the lids. Without lines etched into his face, he seemed peaceful, and this was possibly the man he had once been for Thor. Incongruously, Natasha almost wanted to sing him a Russian lullaby or rock him, letting him know without words that he was safe. Not a good sign, but an impulse she would have to analyze.

It wasn't necessarily because it was _Loki,_ she decided, but that he was _helpless._ In shutting away his magic so forcibly, they had bound him in chains tighter than the ones present in the warehouse. These would hold, and none of the others thought that he would be able to tolerate being constrained in such a way. He would hate it, would try to retaliate, would inflict as much damage as possible until he felt strong and whole again.

She understood that impulse all too well.

When he finally began to stir, Natasha remained very still. The refrain of an old Russian lullaby flitted through her mind, perhaps the ghost of the mother she couldn't remember or a trainer that was too kind to her when it all began. _Be still or the wolf will come,_ she thought, a corner of her mouth quirking up.

In this case, she was definitely the wolf.

Loki made a soft mewling sound, then froze. After taking mental stock of his situation, he opened his eyes. He skittered backward, arms flailing slightly as he launched himself away from her. Without the former spells weighing him down, he hit the wall easily and fetched up on the floor in an ungainly heap.

"Have you come to kill me?" he asked when she didn't say anything. "Is that what this is? The ultimate penalty for my crimes?"

"If that was the case, it would have been easier to kill you while unconscious."

His mouth twisted as if he tasted something sour. "Why didn't you?"

"I'm not here to kill you," Natasha said simply.

He clearly didn't believe her, but didn't move a muscle. "Why not?" he asked finally, unable to tolerate her silence. "Surely I deserve it."

"Do you?" she asked evenly, not even an eyebrow arched ironically at him. After all, she had been a mercenary of sorts. She had done quite a few terrible things before working for SHIELD. And during. And after.

Pot, meet kettle.

"Of course I do," Loki scoffed. There was a tired note in his voice. "I'm a monster, didn't he tell you? Isn't that what you all think? Murdering the Jotnar, trying to obliterate an entire realm. The deaths on this one, bringing the Chitauri to your door. Taking your allies and making them mine, using their knowledge to my ends. The deals brokered in the Void..."

Natasha simply observed him when his voice trailed off. She said nothing, just saw how his eyes flicked away from her steady gaze, how his hands tightened on his thighs.

"It would be as it should be," he said finally, voice scratchy.

"I think you never knew how else to be," she replied. His gaze snapped to hers. While his expression didn't change, there was an intensity in his eyes that was unsettling. "I think you were trained for a purpose, and had no other when it fell apart."

"What did that oaf tell you?" Loki rasped, lips remaining slightly parted. "What did he say?"

Silence probably would goad him to violence. She would have to tread carefully. Just because he was without magic didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. He would have be contained somehow, and there had to be a hook for what he wanted.

"Thor isn't an oaf," she said quietly. "He never discussed you if he could help it. Everything is what _you_ told me."

"Impossible."

"How you speak, the words you choose, how you sit, how you look at me..." Natasha put on her best aloof and smug smile, even though her stomach churned. "Oh, you give me everything and don't realize the half of it."

Loki was clearly stunned, and didn't move for a long time. "Why aren't you running screaming away from me, mortal?" he demanded finally. "Why don't you demand my life as weregild for the lives of all those I took?"

"It won't bring them back," Natasha replied. "It won't bring _you_ back."

When he launched himself at her, lightning fast and snarling, she had her legs up immediately to catch him in the gut. His breath whooshed out of his lungs painfully, and he sprawled to the side where he fell. Natasha scrambled to sit on top of his chest, one wrist caught in each of her hands as she pressed them down into the floor. Loki's breaths could only come in shallow pants, and she could feel the trembling in his body between her solid thighs.

"You're angry," she said when he refused to speak. "You're afraid. You're fucking _terrified,"_ she clarified. "You don't know what comes next. You don't know what else to do, how else to be. So you become the thing you think you are, the wolf in the darkness, with sharp teeth and claws and a growl of warning." It was almost poetic of her, really, and usually she didn't speak that way. But Loki listened, almost rapt, and Natasha took a chance to let his wrists go. She ran her nails down the inside of his wrists, over the sensitive flesh there, noting how he responded to her touch.

"I could kill you," he whispered, voice hoarse. There was no heat in it, no rage.

He was tired, so very tired and alone. She understood how that felt only too well.

"You could," she acknowledged in a voice just as soft and reverent. She ran her nails down his wrists again, harder this time. Loki sucked in a breath, and he didn't seem to mind the touch at all. "But if you did, this ends. If I'm dead, I won't be able to talk to you. Touch you. _See_ you for who you really are." She leaned in close, until her forehead almost touched his, and allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. "I'm not afraid of you, Loki. Not like you're afraid of yourself. And if you let me, I'll contain that for you."

"Why would I trust you? Why would you do such a thing for me?"

Because her ledger was still red. Because there was so much to do, so little time to do it in, and she was just as tired and alone as he was.

Natasha didn't say any of that. She smiled instead, and chuckled softly. "Don't you like this kind of game, Loki? Don't you play to win?"

His eyes closed, Loki didn't respond.

"Maybe you used to. Maybe you forgot what it's like. Or maybe, this time you just want to be the hunted one. This time, you're the one that has to suffer. This will be how you pay."

He didn't move when she climbed off of him and left the room. According to sensors, it was the calmest he had been since waking either time.

***

It was weakness that he didn't try to rip out her throat with his teeth, that he listened to her chatter at all. It was even worse that he _wanted_ to listen, that the burning ache in his bones soothed somewhat at the sound of her voice.

_I'm not afraid of you, Loki._

Surely that was a lie. Surely. The others had to fear him, why else strip him of his magic and make him helpless, bound in this flesh that wasn't even his own? His skin crawled, and he could feel the itch along his spine that indicated he was being watched. No obvious means to do so that he could see through his lashes, but that meant nothing. There was magic and technology in this realm, not so advanced as Asgard, but present just the same. They would know when he woke, when he used the pathetic excuse of a toilet, when he deigned get up from the bed. It was soft, at least, and eased the soreness in his back and arms. His body felt strange, and even the taste of the air seemed different.

Loki ran his tongue along his teeth, unconsciously counting them. The same number and shape, though they felt dirty and almost sticky despite not eating. "Am I to be starved, then?" he called out, his voice a raspy whisper compared to his usual imperious tones. Gah, further weakness that he was showing them. Could he bite through his own wrists to end this torture? "Do you enjoy the sight of me brought so low, _brother?"_ he snarled, putting an ironic twist on the title. He once cared for Thor's opinion, once loved him.

Now, everything burned with hate and shame and misery.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Natasha came into the room with a rolling cart laden with food. Some of it smelled so similar to fare he was used to as a child on Asgard that Loki's heart stuttered in his chest.

"So, not starved, then."

"Think you can handle eating food and keeping it down?" she asked briskly. "We're not sure if the spells unsettled your entire digestive system or not."

Oh. _Oh._ They truly weren't going to torture him. It was out of concern, however misguided it was, because they didn't want him ill.

The thought was unsettling, to be quite honest. Loki would much rather that they all wanted to do him harm in retaliation for his past actions. He knew how to deal with _that._

Loki moved to the edge of the bed, testing his movement. He felt awkward in this skin, like a gangling youth not yet grown into his height. The youthful feeling was exacerbated by array of sweets he used to eat as a child, and the ache in his chest burned. Hesitantly, he reached out for one of the sweet cakes. "Were these brought from Asgard?"

"Vision wanted to try his hand at some of the recipes. You'll have to let him know if he came close to what you remember."

He looked up at her, a niggling thread of suspicion in his mind. "Why do any of you care of my opinion? You hunt me."

"Because of those you've killed," she said, voice flat. "Because there has to be a reckoning."

"How am I to pay weregild, then?" Loki sneered. "Your compatriot has stripped me of magic."

"It's not your only weapon," she said, the corner of her mouth ticking up.

"If I attacked you now—"

"It won't go well for you," she interrupted smoothly.

"Are you certain?" he drawled, then took a bite of the cake.

Ah, bliss. His tongue curled around the confection, and he could remember when he was a lad in his mother's library. He leaned on the table with crossed arms, grinning at her as he picked his feet off the floor and swung a bit. "You'll teach me?" he'd cried, elated. "Truly?" At her pleased nod, he reached out with one hand, keeping his precarious balance with one forearm, and snatched up one of the cakes. "I'll be such a good student, Mother. You won't regret it."

Had she regretted it before she died? Loki had never wanted to ask.

"You're mortal," she said, reaching for the same kind of cake. She took delicate bites, white teeth sinking into the sugary shell. For a faint moment, Loki could imagine her sinking those teeth into his arm, blood running out of the wound instead of the sticky sweet of the cake. Natasha looked at him, unaware of his thoughts. "You rely heavily on your magic, but it's not your only skill set. I don't overlook those the way others might."

"Is that why you say you don't fear me?"

"I have a bargain for you." Her eyes bored into his, and the sweet cake was like ash in his mouth when he recalled the times when he thought he could bargain with her. He had lost, to his shame and rage, and had underestimated her. Loki couldn't afford to do that again, but he didn't know how to take her measure. He had thought her beneath his notice before, and didn't know much more about her now.

Loki finished the cake but couldn't taste it now. "Which is?" he prompted at her silence.

"You are going to supervise some aspects of Wanda's magic study. Theory, of course, since you can't cast." The reminder rankled terribly, but Loki held his tongue. "You are going to work at rebuilding parts of the cities you've destroyed. Not physically, but in working to create materials that can withstand damage from magic or magical creatures."

"Not a small request, that," he commented when she fell silent. "You said this was a bargain."

"Yes. The others are leaving me in charge of you. To manage as I see fit."

His mouth ran dry at the amusement in her gaze as she tapped her boot on the floor. Oh, no. She remembered the way his traitorous body had responded to him, that his flippant answers had likely given her more information than he had thought it was. Loki had simply wanted to appear strong and unafraid. He hadn't wanted to say—

"So this is my bargain, Loki," she said, leaning forward and rolling the tray of food away from him. There was a stern and harsh cast to her features. "You do as I say in making use of your magical knowledge to help instead of harm. You stop baiting Thor every chance you get. And if I'm pleased with your performance, I'll give you what you need."

"You're so certain you know what I want?" he scoffed, lifting his chin and twisting his lips into a sardonic smile. His heart raced, however, and his gut clenched uncomfortably around the cake in his belly. That tap of her foot on the floor, the way she leaned forward... He wanted to lean back, away from her, wanted to claw at her face and make her _go away_ with her knowing eyes and lack of pity.

He kept his ground, and her face was uncomfortably close to his. He could almost see his reflection in her brilliant green eyes, and at least he seemed more confident than he felt.

Her hand whipped out and clutched his throat, nails digging into the flesh just hard enough to sting. "You want this. You _need_ the touch, the pain of it. You need to be grounded in your body, to feel like it's yours. Your thoughts stop then, don't they? Otherwise, they're constantly on the move, constantly looking for threat. Somewhere, somehow, someone is going to do you harm, and you can't have that."

Loki was very still, and stared at her. She didn't move, either, waiting on his next words. He didn't have any, nothing clever on his tongue, so he swallowed convulsively, feeling the press of her palm. His heart skittered in his chest, erratic and likely betraying the thrill and turmoil churning in his gut.

"What do you propose, then?" he said finally, letting one of his sugary hands touch her denim clad thigh. "A game of pretend? Where I seek to force you to submit to my whims? Is that what you think I need?"

Though he sounded imperious, it didn't seem to fool her.

Instead, her grip on his throat tightened fractionally, her nails digging a little harder into his throat. Adrenaline coursed through him, sharp and bitter, senses alive. Her other hand, he had forgotten about it, palmed his cock through his loose clothing.

"We both know who's going to be submitting to whom. Don't fool yourself on that account. It will go easier if you're honest."

"I'm a god of lies," Loki scoffed.

"Not with me, you're not. You will be honest."

"That's not part of your bargain."

"Use your knowledge for help and not harm," Natasha repeated. "Lies harm."

"So can truth," Loki replied, heart twisting in his chest. "When not told or told with intent to harm. Don't be so righteous."

Her expression didn't change. Could he ever learn such a trick?

"Do we have a bargain?" she asked, tone and expression brooking no argument. Her nails ran along the length of his cock through the fabric, and the nails of her other hands were still dug into his throat. His heart beat rapidly, and his mouth watered with _want._

"What are the caveats and codicils?" he asked, corners of his mouth ticking upward in a smile. His fingers traced random patterns on her thighs that could have been sigils, but he wasn't able to fuel them with power. He could feel her strength there, the willpower she possessed. "Would your compatriots wish to observe your tender ministrations?"

Natasha's eyes glittered dangerously. "Do you submit?"

It was intoxicating to think of her controlling him, directing what he did or studied, punishing him should he get out of hand. He wanted to sink into her flesh as much as he wanted her to hurt him, and Loki found himself laughing as he pushed his hips up into her hand. Her grip tightened, and he gasped out "Harder."

"Do you submit?"

"I won't call you Master," he said, his own hands tightening on her thighs.

"Do you submit?"

The repetition made him shiver. She wouldn't give an inch, would she? No mercy, no pity, no affection. It was what he deserved, was it not? To be punished and made to suffer like the hideous monster he was.

"I do," he finally ground out. "I accept your bargain."

Her hand on his cock was tighter, as well as the nails digging into his throat. His gasp was of pleasure, and he shivered in delight. He let go of her thighs and let his mouth fall open. "More," he demanded, and then her nails curled into the length of him.

"I set the pace. I set the rules. And if you break them, I will punish you," she intoned. "You won't always like what I tell you to do, but you have to do it."

"Or else what?" he challenged with a complacent smile.

She abruptly let go of him and stood. Natasha gave him a cool nod when he gaped at her. "There are many ways to punish and discipline if you're disobedient."

"Does it mean nothing to you?" Loki asked, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. He was sure he looked at her in longing, because his body ached and he craved some kind of touch. She hadn't been too far off the mark on that guess. Taking his own cock in hands didn't satisfy, and left him feeling even emptier afterward.

"It means whatever I need it to mean," Natasha replied in flat tones. She lifted the tray that held the sweet cakes on them and started walking toward the door. "I'll be back to set up a curriculum for Wanda to study."

Loki blinked at her brisk efficiency. "But—"

"If I don't like what you have to say, there will be consequences."

He found himself grinning at her before he meant to show her how the words affected him. By the Tree, he liked the sound of that.

"I look forward to them."

Natasha left with the sweet cakes, and he couldn't even be mad that she had all of his favorite ones. There was plenty left, and he could get his unruly cock under control. She was coming back, there would be rules, he would try to break them, he would get punished.

He couldn't wait to see what she had in mind.

***

"Did he like them?" Vision asked Natasha pleasantly when she returned. His expression turned to dismay when he saw the tray in her hand. "Oh."

"Oh, no, I stole these for myself. They're delicious," she assured him with a genuine smile. And they were. It reminded her a bit of baklava with its honeyed sweetness, though it was less of a flaky pastry and more of a soft cake. "He likes these the best, I think."

"As do you," he replied in amusement. "Should I try my hand at it again?"

"I would appreciate it, yes," Natasha said, still smiling. "In the meantime, I have some things to plan for our unruly guest."

"Do try to keep him in one piece," Vision chided gently, returning her smile. "Wanda would like some instruction, after all."

"I'll see what I can do. No promises," she said, taking the tray with her to one of the rooms she liked to use as a study. A coffeemaker was already set up, so she poured herself a mug of black coffee and curled up on the couch with the tray at her side.

Wanda had already given her a list of topics she was studying on her own and the kind of thing she was practicing with her magic. She wasn't sure what Loki would be able to teach her, but dealing with the theory might help her. Clint had thought it was a big mistake when she had called him, and was glad he was in retirement. "But I'll come back if you need me, Tash," he had assured her quickly. "Even without magic, he's still dangerous."

Flattering, but unnecessary. After reassurances and talks with him, Laura, and the kids, she was able to soothe his worries. She was still herself, no other changes to her consciousness. She was still very much aware of her own ledger, and had already started to compose Loki's.

There were an unknown number of Jotnar dead, so she couldn't accurately count them. Thor had confessed he was woefully ignorant of that realm, and didn't know how he could ask about the death toll without setting the survivors hunting for Loki. He had a rather high death toll on Earth, in any case. Eighty people dead in Stuttgart, Germany. Seventy-four people dead in the Battle of New York, whether from Chitauri or damage that Loki had indirectly caused. Between the five attacks over the past five months, there were twenty-two people dead.

Natasha didn't doubt that there were likely more that she and Thor didn't know about. This was a place to start, and he would tell her the others in time. She would see to it.

Over the next several weeks, Loki's secured room on Natasha's floor of the complex was carefully prepared. She had modeled it after the rooms Tony had created for her in Avengers Tower. There were no cameras, and it was all sleek and white in keeping with Tony's modern architectural preferences. That wasn't what truly mattered to her, and she did appreciate it more than rococo or Byzantine stylings. It was mostly the sensory details that mattered the most to her when it came to decorating. Tony may have chuckled a little at the high thread count sheets, deep pile carpets and the painstakingly embroidered tapestries she wanted on her walls, but he had eagerly paid for it all over her protests. She had money squirreled away under different names and different safe houses, but he had wanted to shower everyone with gifts. Natasha knew it was the only way he knew how to display affection for others, and didn't bother making anything but token protests.

Loki's room was a stark contrast to the rest of the floor. Instead of the bright white, chrome and glass accents, his room had wood paneling in ash, mahogany and rowan wood. Thor had assured her that the woods had different magical properties, and should help Loki calm down. Natasha had cared more about the metal and stone reinforcements in the walls of the room, as well as the strength of the door in case she had to lock him in. The windows were all reinforced glass, and she had tested it against several kinds of ballistic and laser weapons. Wanda had managed to smash it with her chaos magic, but Loki didn't have that option open to him anymore.

Furniture was solid, bolted into the floor and walls to keep them from being moved. There were hooks and rings installed in the ceiling and walls; it had obviously taken a lot of restraint for Tony not to comment on those additions to the room. Natasha didn't need him to keep rope or chain in the room; she had her own ideas about what was appropriate anyway. The closet had no doors or rod for hanging items, only shelving for folded clothes. "I doubt he's the type to try to kill himself," was all Tony had said, looking around the room when she was satisfied with it. "And nothing to hang himself with, anyway."

"You'd be surprised what determined people are willing to do," Natasha had replied.

Tony looked at her, expression carefully blank. "I don't think I would be."

Given his history, perhaps not.

When Loki was finally moved into the room, his expression eerily mirrored Tony's blank one as he took in the surroundings. "This is quite different from the rest of the rooms here."

"I was told that Asgardians tend to gild everything," Natasha replied. "But this seemed rather like your style."

"Oh?" he asked, voice distant as he walked into the room. His feet sank into the dark green carpet, and he seemed surprised by the sumptuousness of it.

"You're accustomed to finer things, growing up as a prince of Asgard. But the colors you favor are darker, bolder, giving a more solid presence."

"I lived in shadow," Loki said, taking another step forward. His back was to her, and he looked over the room in such a way that she couldn't see his expression.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted a mirror," Natasha said quietly.

His hands fisted for a moment, then he forced them open. "That you would even consider my preferences is unexpected."

"That's not the usual protocol for a prison, but this isn't one."

Loki turned to face her, expression tight. "Is it not? This is simply a better lined cage."

"If it is a cage, it's one you built on the bodies of the dead."

"All kingdoms are built on the backs of the dead."

"Then behold your kingdom," Natasha replied evenly, stepping forward without breaking eye contact. "Such as it is."

"These four walls," Loki spat.

"Your mind," Natasha said, continuing to move forward. She reached him, and grasped his shoulders to push him down to his knees. He struggled, of course he did, and it soon became full on hand to hand combat. She fought dirty, as did he, and Loki was far better skilled in this than Thor had thought. Natasha made note of that in the back of her mind, and caught him under the chin by surprise. In that split second he faltered, she grabbed his hair and slammed his face down into her knee, then slammed him down into the carpet. For good measure, she repeatedly did it, then pressed her knee into his spine and yanked one of his arms up and behind him at an awkward angle, preventing him from bucking her off.

Finally still, Loki's eyes were shut and his breathing was in short pants. "Pleased with yourself, are you?" he finally rasped when she remained silent.

"As I was going to say," Natasha murmured, digging her nails into his wrist for good measure, "your mind is one of your assets. It might bother you that you have this room, but it's up to you whether you can have more than this."

The tension in his arm and back didn't ease. "You have conditions, of course."

"You want a physical reckoning for your crimes," Natasha continued, as if he hadn't spoken. He went very still for a moment, not even breathing. "I can give that to you. I told you that I have red in my ledger."

"I told you it was gushing," Loki choked.

"In comparison to mine, your ledger is drowning in blood," Natasha said flatly, "and that's even without getting an accurate death toll of Jotnar."

Loki shuddered, then sucked in a pained breath when the movement wrenched his arm a little further back. "Millions," he said finally.

"We assume. Thor already told me that there's no accurate population count. The realm was already decimated by war thousands of years ago."

"All on my head," Loki said, resolutely staring at the carpet. "I turned the Bifrost into a weapon to destroy an entire realm."

"Yes, you did," Natasha agreed.

"What are your conditions?" Loki said after a long stretch of silence, relaxing into her touch.

It was the moment that she was waiting for, and she leaned down into him, pressing her weight right into his spine. She knew full well it would hurt, and he sucked in a breath. Taking his earlobe between her teeth, balancing her weight on his back pulled at his arm even more. She bit hard, long enough to leave the imprint of teeth behind.

"We have a curriculum built to teach Wanda, and Thor will find any appropriate items or scrolls from the library on Asgard if you need them. Nothing will stay in your possession, and there will an Asgardian student here to observe lessons to make sure they're above board."

"Those idiots know nothing."

"All they need to know is that you're not corrupting the knowledge."

Loki actually turned his head slightly to look at her in disgust. "So few practice the art as it is!"

"Then there are no difficulties with that part of the plan," Natasha replied easily, lips stretching into a smile. "If there are other things we need consulting with, you will comply. If your strength is needed to help in physically rebuilding anything you've damaged, you will comply."

"Or else?"

Natasha's smile was a cruel and edged thing, one she knew struck terror in those who saw it before they had died. Loki seemed pinned in place at the sight of it.

She stood abruptly, letting go of his arm. His body flopped to the floor and he gasped in shock. It turned into a groan of pain when she kicked him hard between the legs. "Punishment without concern for your wellbeing."

He groaned and curled into a ball. "How is this different from that?"

Kneeling beside him, Natasha brushed her fingers along his cheek. Loki flinched, and looked up in confusion when she did no more than stroke his skin gently. "This, Loki," she said. Tilting her head to the side, her lips curved into a small smile. "You feel it, don't you? It might hurt the moment you're punished, when you feel you're paying for your mistakes. But you know that someone cares. You know someone will always be there, no matter what." His breaths were shallow, eyes wild and staring.

Running her finger down the outer edge of his lower lip, she leaned down and gave him a whisper of a kiss on his temple. "That's what you need, Loki. You need limits and structure, and you need to know they'll always be there. No matter how awful something is, you're not alone."

"You have no concern for me," Loki rasped, tension building in his body again. She would have to tread very carefully.

Shifting to straddle his torso, Natasha ran her fingers through his hair, carding its length. "I have no fear of you," she corrected in matter-of-fact tones. "And I'm not so involved that I can't give you what you need. Because they couldn't on Asgard, could they? They might have loved you—"

"They _didn't!"_ Loki shrieked, twisting beneath her.

She hadn't expected that, and fell off of him. Shooting to her feet, she was in a crouch and poised to launch herself at him. But Loki didn't move, and broke his desperate eye contact after a long, torturous moment. "They didn't," he whispered. "It was a lie. Everything was a lie."

"I'm a practiced liar," Natasha said quietly. "We both know this. But we also know that I can tell the truth, and I'll deal with you honestly as long as you're honest with me. I'll give you what you need, and I'll be the one you can lean on."

"Why would you do such a thing for a monster like me?"

Sliding to her knees in front of his crouched form, Natasha reached out and caressed his shoulder gently, as if he was a skittish and wild thing. "I'm not afraid of you, Loki. I'm a monster, too." He looked up at her, startled, trembling beneath her hand. "So I know how to quiet the monster inside of you. I'll help you pay for what you've done, and you can start to balance your ledger. It's the only way to make it right, to keep it quiet. You've been out of balance."

"Too much _seidr,_ not enough _spá_ or _galdr,"_ he murmured.

"I'll pretend to understand the reference," Natasha told him wryly. "But you're out of balance, Loki. I know what that's like. And I know how to change it."

He looked at her with pleading desperation in his eyes. "Please."

She ran her fingertips gently over the raw carpet burns on his cheek. He shivered, but didn't break eye contact with her. "So you can ask," she murmured. "You can beg, then."

Loki looked sick at the mention of _beg,_ and Natasha didn't press for more. Time enough for that later. They would have to establish boundaries. Pain play was obviously something he would go for, and she would guess knives and blood as well as bondage.

"We'll figure out what works best, and then I'm going to make you balance your ledger."

There was something like relief in his expression, and she thought of his speech in the plaza at Stuttgart. _Freedom is an illusion... Your natural inclination is to kneel._

She was absolutely going to make him kneel.

***

Loki curled up on the bed, shivering as if he was riddled with fever. Wanda was actually a fair student, clever and eager to grasp the nuances of magic. She hadn't been trained in any sense of the word, muddling through as best as she could. After a few test translations, the student that Thor had imported from Asgard declared that Loki wasn't leading Wanda astray. And really, where would be the fun in that? There were few enough skilled in the craft, and Wanda had potential to be truly great if he pushed her.

And frighteningly enough, she could be as good as he was with the _seidr,_ and could very well be able to master the _spà._ It was humbling, and made his stomach twist in knots; Frigga had been one of the few great masters on Asgard. All of her knowledge was lost now, and it left Loki feeling hollow.

The craft was poorer for her death, as was he.

He had foolishly thought that Natasha would do _something_ to ease the ache and burning beneath his skin. He was stretched out and hollow, yet yearning for some kind of release from the restlessness he couldn't name. Her touches before had set him aflame, and she did no more so far than tease him. It was enough to make him want to weep, if such _argr_ could ever be tolerated. There was no way in all of the Nine Realms that he would ever reveal such weakness in front of her, let alone the others. Wanda might have curtailed his magic in a way she didn't even understand, but he would _never_ let them think he was weak. No one would ever think him less than dangerous.

_I'm not afraid of you._

All right, no one but Natasha would ever think him less than dangerous. She thought him a danger, but one she could manage. It rankled a little, but at the same time, if there were no limits, no constraints...

His heart stuttered in his chest, such as the shriveled thing was. Anticipation and terror alike warred in him at the thought of true freedom and lack of consequence. It was rather like falling through the Void all over gain, and that memory certainly could make him shake.

He must have dozed fitfully, because when he woke, Natasha was seated beside him and stroking his back. "Is it magic withdrawal?" she asked in a soft voice when it was clear he was awake.

It was an easy out, one he could take and possibly use to his advantage. But he was tired, so very tired, and some part of him wanted to simply _stop._ She had wanted honesty in her dealings with him, and the temptation to lie was so great.

"No," he said finally, sighing. "I don't think so. I don't know why this is."

She brushed his hair away from his face. It was long and unruly, not slicked back or carefully managed to look regal and imposing. "Thank you for being honest."

"It's what you wanted."

"It's what you need."

Loki turned and saw her unfathomable eyes watching him, weighing him. Likely finding him wanting and tainted as everyone else did. "Who are you to determine what I need?" he spat, unable to help himself from sounding resentful.

"Your keeper," she said simply, fingers running along his cheek to the pointed jut of his chin. "I will help you get closure."

"Impossible for one such as me."

Natasha actually smiled in amusement, damn her eyes. "Not if you let go."

That stark terror rose inside of his chest, clawing to be released as a scream or a wave of stoppered magic. Loki would have said something cutting and sharp enough to flay her skin off, but she stood and withdrew her touch. It choked him, how much he longed for that simple contact, that connection that told him he wasn't as alone as he felt.

"You're going to need help to stop thinking," she said quietly. "So we're going to begin. I'm going to do whatever I want to make that happen, and you're going to take it. Usually there are safe words for this kind of thing, but I don't think you'd actually use one."

Loki sneered at her without even thinking about it. "Safe words? What am I? A child?"

Amusement danced in her eyes. "Thankfully, not."

It was embarrassing to strip to the skin at her command, though he wasn't ashamed of his body in the slightest. He wasn't the thickly muscled bulk that Thor and the Einherjar were, more of a wiry and lanky build. Perhaps it was simply the Jotunn heritage that Odin couldn't excise from his body when the magic was laid into him as a stolen infant. That wasn't the part that mattered or embarrassed, it was the frank scrutiny as she watched every movement. That judging look, the weight of her gaze heavy and daunting.

He was wanting, he knew he was, and he was lacking. There was no getting past that. If it wasn't the awful taint of _ergi,_ then it was simply not being able to measure up to other men as a mortal. Loki should still have had his skills, yet she bested him when they fought hand to hand. He should have been able to rip her apart with bare hands, but had fallen and had his face ground into carpet like an unruly dog. No, he had the feeling that she wouldn't even treat a dog in such a way. He was less than a dog, a beast that wouldn't be put down unless he was useful and could do the tricks she asked of him.

She had something with her, a cloth and rope and—Loki's breath stuttered at the sight of the riding crop, a supple leather that he had been familiar with when working with horses on Asgard. Did she mean to use that on him, then?

"Kneel."

It was a quiet word, but still a command. He rebelled, recoiling from her before he could even think about why. Natasha reacted just as quickly, kicking forward with her booted foot. The side kick caught him in the throat, and Loki clutched at his throat as he staggered back a step. The itch beneath his skin burst into flames as she stalked closer, kicking him again for good measure, making him gasp for breath. Would she break her plaything before the game even began? Surely she wasn't that cruel.

If she was, however, Loki would be so proud of her.

Natasha pushed him to his knees and placed one foot over his thigh. She wore tall heeled black boots that laced up her calves. The denim jeans were nondescript, and her shirt was a plain dark blue. Her hair swung loose, giving her a youthful appearance despite the dark knowledge in her eyes. It was likely how she fooled the idiot mortals into thinking it was safe to trust her, when she did nothing but lie and lie and lie...

The blindfold cut off his vision, and he started in a panic. His hands swung up to remove it as she deftly knotted the black silk, but then she caught his wrists in hers.

"Stay still."

Harsh words, commanding him as if he was no more than a pet. He railed against it, Allspeak slipping from his lips before he knew what he was doing. Panic, blind fear, terror of the dark and the horrors that it hid—

"I'm going to bind you," Natasha said firmly. "Just your hands, and you're going to stand up. The rope is going to keep you in place, so you don't have to worry about keeping still."

More Allspeak, panic, _please don't do this, don't slip away into the dark—_

"You're going to atone, Loki," she said, voice coming from a different angle. "You're going to have balance in your ledger. I'm going to make sure of it."

"How?" he asked, voice cracking as he remembered to speak in English.

The rope she wound around his wrists was actually soft, and unlikely to scrape his skin raw. It was a kindness she likely didn't have to give him, and Loki latched onto that thought in the midst of his panic. She didn't want him dead. She wasn't going to kill him and hide the body. She wasn't a liar like he was, wasn't intentionally cruel to wound and rip a soul to shreds. There was purpose in all of this, and she was fair in that. This was about balancing his ledger, not about extracting revenge for the dead.

He tried to remind himself of this when the rope tightened and his arms were pulled above his head. There were hooks and rings in various places, and he heard her stomping on something near him, but he couldn't remember the room layout. How was she going to reach them when she was so much shorter than he was?

It almost didn't matter, because he was on his knees and his arms were overhead, his wrists were bound and he was blindfolded. Loki was weak, so weak, he let this puny human string him up so she could slit his throat and tear out his heart. He was exposed to her, helpless, lacking any of the strength he should have had.

Loki was tainted with _ergi_ after all.

Natasha's hand settled onto his shoulder, a quiet comfort he appreciated and seized on like a drowning man on a piece of driftwood. "Stand," she said, and he tried his best to do it gracefully so that she wouldn't withdraw this one bit of favor.

"I don't know how many Jotnar you killed," Natasha began. "So we're going to start with Stuttgart, then New York, then all the other lives you've taken that we know about."

He was going to pay, it was going to hurt, and he _deserved it._

Her hand slid down his spine to cup his ass in a possessive manner. "Shall we go over each and every name of the dead?"

"Do we have to?" he asked, ashamed that it came out as a pitiful whine.

A light swat on his ass made him jerk and pull at the ropes on his wrists. "In that case, yes."

"You can't possibly know all their names."

She sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and ah, he let out a delicious groan of pleasure at the feel of her mouth on him, her front pressed to his back. "I do," she said, lips next to his ear, her breath a warm caress against his skin. "And now, you're going to learn them, too."

The names had never meant anything to him before. They hadn't been people, nameless faces, means to an end. Now he had to repeat each one, tongue wrapping around the syllables, and a whistling strike of the crop against the flesh of his back for each one. If he made a mistake, if he mangled the pronunciation, the crop instead came down his burgeoning cock. To his shame, that only made the damn thing harden faster.

"I can't do this," he whimpered at the fifty-sixth name. There was no rustling of paper, so Natasha had indeed memorized them all. Loki knew the blindfold soaked up his tears, but he was panting and gasping, writhing when the crop came down on his back. It must have been a miracle that the skin hadn't broken. He deserved it, he deserved more, but he was a fool and a sorry excuse for a son, and by the Holy Ash and Yew, he didn't know how to make it right.

"Yes, you do," she crooned, making him think he spoke aloud. He must have, right? The crop caressed his sore skin, and he cringed away from the touch.

Fifty-six of eighty names. "I can't, I can't," he sobbed, pulling on the ropes. He should have been able to break them. He shouldn't be so weak. He should have been stronger.

"Sh, Loki," Natasha murmured, stroking his hair. "This is the hardest thing to do, to start at the beginning. It gets easier, but you need to accept. Submit."

Her voice was lulling and husky, and he wanted to think of her full lips parted or even circling his cock, though she would never deign to do such a thing, would she?

"I can't," Loki sobbed, voice breaking. He sagged against one arm, trying to hide his already hidden eyes. "I can't, I can't."

"Do you think I would accept that from you? Don't you think I would know where your limits are? I test them, but I don't put you through more than you can take."

Loki's breath hitched. "Really?"

"Of course. I don't play with useless things, Loki." Her tone was a playful chiding. "Really, now," she continued, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I have far more respect for myself than that. I only play with worthy things."

_Worthy._

He broke down into ugly cries, shaking his head. He couldn't verbalize how much the word cut him, how much it dug so deep into his gut he thought it would swallow him whole. He was empty, so empty, so worthless and broken. How could Natasha think he was worthy of anything, monster that he was, traitor to the very bone he was built on?

"We're more than halfway there," she urged him. "We can continue."

Loki stuttered, but the name held together on his tongue. _Strike,_ the crop whistling through the air, and he cried out in pain and ecstasy combined.

The names dripped, one at a time, and he arched into each strike of the crop against his back. He could feel his balls pull and tighten, and he gasped, straining against the ropes. His world was no more than the names of the dead, the sound of his broken voice, Natasha's husky voice, and the burn of pain across his back. There was nothing else, no expectations to meet, no inflated sense of self to have to maintain.

It was glorious. He should have done this long ago.

With the eightieth name, the crop fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Loki whimpered, his back in righteous flames, every nerve ending sensitive to the movement of the air. Natasha made soothing noises, and stroked his hair. He was barely even cognizant that the angle of her touch meant she had to be on some kind of stepping stool. All he knew was that she was petting him, soothing him, praising him for meeting her challenge. Loki needed her approval, craved hearing her say that he pleased her, that he did well, that of course he could do everything she asked of him, and she would take care of him.

She rubbed some kind of cold gel onto his back, and he cried out. It stung deliciously, and he thought he would come from that alone. Loki whimpered something in Allspeak, a pleading whisper she didn't understand, but her hands were steady on him. One soothed the gel into his skin, and the other periodically stroked his chest and stomach. All the while, she crooned to him, the sound of her voice the tether he needed to stay safe and sane.

He definitely cried out in pleasure and came when her gelled hand closed around his stiff cock. It didn't take long, one or two swipes, then he spurted into her fist. He sagged against his arm, nearly weeping, because this was _such_ a poor showing of what he could actually do. His stamina was barely tested, and he didn't want her thinking badly of him.

Natasha pressed a kiss over a nipple. "Shall I give you another reward?" she purred, the gelled hand still milking the last drops of come from him. "You did so well, and the beginning is always the hardest."

"Please," Loki whispered, voice raw. He felt clean, all of the darkness bled out of him, and he gave her a soft, loopy smile. "Please, Natasha."

"Since this is the start, I'll let you choose what reward you want. You've earned it with how well you've taken it all."

Loki leaned forward, into her touch. "Can I taste you?"

"Where?" she asked, voice low. The sound went straight to his soft cock, but he was too wrung out to stir properly for her.

"Everywhere. Anywhere. Please."

"Good answer," she chuckled.

He made some kind of disappointed noise when she stepped away from him, but then his arms were released and she eased him to his knees. Wrists still bound and eyes still covered, Loki looked up expectantly in the direction she had to be in, hoping she would still find him pleasing and give him a good reward.

Her fingers ran through his hair, damp with sweat. "So pretty," she murmured, and he found himself straightening up a bit to preen for her, even though his back ached and stung. "Oh, yes, so, so, pretty."

Natasha pulled off her shirt and undid her bra, tossing them behind her. She gently pressed his mouth to her breast, and he licked and laved at the nipple offered to him. Loki held himself steady by holding onto her clothed knee, and he reveled in the taste of her skin and the scent of her. It was comfort and praise, a feeling like home that Loki had forgotten he had ever truly felt before. He hummed happily as he tongued her, suckling like a hungry child.

Even better, he could hear her moans of pleasure and smell her growing arousal.

It was heady to know that he pleased her this well, that she cared for his wellbeing and that she would reward him with what he wanted as well as needed. Natasha would protect him from himself, would give him a way out from his own panic, would balance the darkness when it threatened to choke him.

"More, Natasha?" he gasped when he felt his cock stir again. If he could taste her wetness, get his tongue inside her, make her come, maybe she would let him come again. He wanted inside her so badly, however she wanted him, even if she was the one to fuck him.

"Think you're ready for that?"

"Please," Loki begged, breath warm on her wet skin. "Please, please, please..."

Her throaty chuckle made him moan in desire. "Since you beg me so nicely..."

She didn't even undress fully, only undid the jeans and pushed everything down to her knees. It was frustrating, he couldn't really reach anything of interest, but—oh, wait, she was grasping his chin and leading him forward as she took mincing steps backward. Where had he been? Where was he in the room? It didn't matter, not when she found something soft to sit on, and she hiked her thighs up and around his head. Loki could get to the very core of her, wet and waiting for his lips and tongue, and he dove right in as soon as she was settled.

Time lost all meaning as Loki licked into her as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He reveled in the feel of her, the softness of her skin against his cheeks and the rough hair against his nose. This was real, this was solid, this was something he could hang onto if he thought he was falling through another Void. Even without being told, he didn't touch his own cock to give him relief. The thought didn't even cross his mind. He was focused on the feel of her, the light gasps and moans as he flicked her clit with his tongue. It was a game of sorts to see which rune pattern she enjoyed the most, to see how far he could thrust his tongue inside her and curl it in her slippery wetness.

A sharp yank on his hair drew his mouth away from her. Natasha's thighs trembled, and there was a deep, heavy sigh. "Too much," she finally gasped.

Loki couldn't help but flash her a shit-eating grin, and she laughed in response. "And you didn't even touch yourself, either," she said, smoothing his hair down.

He blinked at the sudden influx of light when she removed the blindfold. A gorgeous flush stained her cheeks, and her smile was soft and tender. She was _pleased,_ she was pleased, he wasn't wanting after all, he could do _something_ right after all.

"I didn't think you would want me to," Loki murmured, then gave her a plaintive look. "I ache so much, Natasha."

Her smile shifted slightly, less soft and more wry somehow. "Of course you do. And you know that I'll take care of you."

"Thank you," he murmured, turning to press a kiss to her thigh. The sudden affection for her was overwhelming, and he had nothing but gratitude for her efforts.

"You've had more than enough today," she said, stroking his hair tenderly.

Panic flooded through him. "Haven't I done enough to please you, Natasha?" he asked, eyes wide and desperate as he looked up at her. "Don't leave me," he whispered, all but begging as he kept hold of her thigh.

"Too much won't be good for you. I have your wellbeing in mind, remember?"

Loki made a whining, needy noise as he shook his head. There weren't words enough for the desperate, fearful panic rising up. He would be alone, alone, and it would be as crushing as the Void had been, and all the well wishes she had for him would be swallowed up and consumed in the darkness. "Don't leave me alone," he pleaded, unable to stop the whine in his voice. By the Nine, he was _terrified,_ not even sure why he was so terrified, not when she was pleased with him and just trying to care for him. It was more than he deserved, more than anyone had ever felt since Frigga, and he couldn't bear to let it slip through his fingers.

Natasha lifted her legs off of him despite his mewling cries, and she made a frustrated noise at the tangle of jeans and boots and socks. "Remind me to wear slip on shoes next time."

Next time. Thank Yggdrasil, there was still going to be a next time.

He was crying, he hadn't even realized he was crying, and she was wiping the tears off of his cheeks while making shushing noises. She was so gentle, so caring, and he loved her with all of his volatile being in that very moment.

"If I push you too hard, you'll break. I won't break you, Loki."

"I'm already broken," he sobbed. "There's nothing else you can do to me."

"That's not true," she murmured sadly. "There's so much more that I can do, you haven't even dreamt of it."

"Haven't I pleased you, Natasha? Aren't I good enough for you? What else can I do? What else do you need me to do to prove it?" he begged, words flowing like a river. For once, not one of them was a lie. He felt ripped open and raw, an open wound for her to explore, and he wanted her to know all of him.

Her expression was soft, almost dreamy. "This must be why they unmade us all," she murmured, more to herself than him as she took in his distress.

"I can't... I can't," Loki hiccupped, clutching at her shoulders desperately. "Don't leave me alone in here, please. It's too quiet, it's too much and not enough and it's empty and I can't fill the space in here enough, please..."

She pushed him onto his back, and he felt the sting of the carpet pressing into the welts on his back. He hissed and writhed, relishing the burn as it raced along his nerve endings. Oh yes, yes, she was making him feel, making him _live,_ and it was wondrous.

When she sank down onto his cock, he sent up prayers in her name in every language that he knew. Natasha rocked over him gently at first, getting used to the feel of him inside of her, and it was a slow agony of want that coursed through him. His back stung, and his cock felt snug and warm and oh so good, he could barely even think.

"Tell me their names," she crooned, and it was such a delicious shock that Loki gasped and nearly came right there.

He stuttered, twisting syllables and names with every gasp and moan. Eighty names to remember, and she remembered them all for him. She was making him memorize them, engraving them into his soul with the feel of her flesh on his, the sting in his back, the knowledge that he deserved worse than she was giving him, but she was being merciful. She was kind. She was gentle and _good_ in a way he could never be, and this would likely break him in all kinds of ways he never knew could happen.

Loki craved it more than he craved power.

"You don't come until I tell you to," she reminded him. "And you haven't told me all of their names yet."

Such a cruel, delightful mistress she was. Loki reveled in her voice bringing him down several notches, knocking him down to his proverbial knees.

More names, nonsense syllables, really, mixed in with his pleading with her to give him mercy, give him peace, give him purpose, give him worth.

Her nails raked across his chest, she pinched his nipples, and he cried out in ecstasy. It was only when he managed to recall the eightieth name that she laughed in approval and told him that he could come. She'd come twice again on his cock, and she was slippery, sweaty, nearly breathless mess atop him, and was glorious to behold.

Loki let go, spilling into her and losing the last of his sense of self.

Natasha cradled him, humming something soft and soothing, a haunting melody that eased him from mindless bliss to shivering flesh in her arms.

If this was punishment, he would never stray from being a villain.

***

"Would it insult you if I said I was worried about you?" Clint asked. He was sitting across from her at the table, having flown in from the latest construction project at the farm. Its location was still fairly hush-hush as far as the outside world knew, since its owner on record had a name that didn't come close to Barton. A former analyst, Laura Barton was too clever and skilled to let something like documentation put her family at risk.

Clint, on the other hand...

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and toed off her shoes, putting her feet up on her coffee table. She stretched back into the couch, the pint of Dove ice cream and spoon in her hands not moving at all. "If I said yes, would you say it anyway?"

"Maybe. From the doorway," Clint snarked, digging into his own pint with a soup spoon. "Laura was the one that figured out what was going on with the added security and reconstruction in your wing. I'm almost insulted you didn't tell me."

"You seriously wanted to know that I'm domming the everliving fuck out of Loki?"

He winced at her arch tone. "Okay, maybe not like that. But are you _sure_ his magic is all gone and locked up?"

"Wanda anchored her spells into his very bones. Which is partly why he had such a bad reaction to it. There were _other_ spells that had been cast that way, so he nearly died before this all began," she said with a shrug, daintily sliding her spoon into her ice cream.

"Would that really be terrible?"

"Probably not. But if we could turn him? Give him purpose."

Stabbing his own pint with the spoon, Clint shifted slightly in the couch, taking in her relaxed pose but stiff jaw. "You are _not_ the same as he is!"

"I was trained from the time I was a little girl. When I could go straight, I didn't, not until you came along," Natasha said, voice deceptively light. "Is it really too late to push him onto a better path? Having a magic user on our side might be handy."

"Wanda," Clint pointed out.

"Backup. Different kind of chaos magic," Natasha returned.

Clint sighed and shook his head. "You have your heart set on this. Is this how Coulson felt when I was this way with bringing you in? Jesus Christ, he would laugh his head off to hear about this, if he doesn't want to get a run in and stab the bastard."

"I'm extracting my pound of flesh."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't give me any visuals."

"You've seen me on jobs before."

"Which is why I'm begging you not to give me details," he said in a pained voice, still not looking at her. "The bastard's not in my nightmares, haven't been in years, but that imagery might just put him back there."

Natasha patted his thigh softly, lips quirking into an amused smile. "You're such a softy."

"Tell that to Lila. She's still upset with me for not getting her an American Girl doll for her birthday. I mean, c'mon! Have you seen the price tag on them?!"

She laughed. "Aunt Tasha got her one."

 _"I know,"_ Clint groused. "She wants to be you when she grows up."

"Scares you, doesn't it?" Natasha laughed.

"Hells to the yes," he agreed, shaking his head again and then scooping up a far too large spoonful of ice cream. He nibbled at the cold mass thoughtfully. "I don't think the new SHIELD is ready for her."

"Probably not. She'd wreak havoc with a sweet smile on her face."

"Your fault just as much as Laura's," Clint grumbled, shifting so he was leaning back into her soft couch again. "But I do worry, you know. I can't help it."

"I know," Natasha murmured, taking another spoonful of her ice cream. "I know how his mind works, though. I think I'm getting in there and taking advantage."

"Ugh. No on the visuals, Tash."

Natasha laughed and ate another spoonful. "Movie before you head back out?"

"Absolutely," he said in fervent agreement. "The new rec room can wait a while longer."

The movie was innocuous enough, something that Natasha forgot about as soon as Clint was heading back out to his Midwestern farm. He was safe and so was his family, and what deals she had going on in New York had nothing to do with him.

It was nice of him to worry about her, though, even if she didn't need it.

There was both a code and a biometric lock to open the door to Loki's rooms. No one else could let him out but FRIDAY, and even then there had to be a damn good reason for it. Natasha was firm on that point, and FRIDAY agreed.

Loki was clearly startled by her appearance in his room so suddenly the following night, his body unfolding from its meditative pose on the floor. She was in a long white dress with a mandarin collar, skimming close to her curves without necessarily being so licentious. She carried a small candelabrum with gleaming white tapers, each lit and burning merrily. Natasha had gone over the names of the Stuttgart victims for long enough, and now she was planning on working with the New York names. While it was nicknamed the Big Apple, she didn't think she could torture him enough with apple related items. It was also the city that never slept, so light would have to do. In this case, candlelight.

There were so many _fun_ things she could do with candles. He really should have agreed to use a safe word.

"You look like an angel from mortal myth," he murmured as she stepped into the room. Because of course she would be drawn to white in her personal space, to differentiate it from the black of her uniform when fighting. Of course she would mark this time with him as separate from the magic lessons or discussion regarding the various movers and shakers around the galaxy. He was aware of far more than Thor had given him credit for, and he was only too eager to show off his expertise to make them feel small and petty.

"Do you think I'm an angel?" she asked, mouth quirking up in amusement.

He actually pondered that. "You see me for what I am."

Interesting. _What_ I am, not _who_ I am. Oh, his scars ran deeper than he realized.

"Strip and lie on the bed," she commanded. She nodded appreciatively when he gracefully rose to his feet and immediately obeyed. The way his spine straightened when he stood before her insouciantly before climbing on the bed was definitely pride, and he arched his back to give his naked backside a full display.

"Do you remember how many you killed in New York all those years ago?" she asked in a conversational tone, approaching the bed. Loki stilled, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as he watched her approach. Gone was the pride in his expression.

"No," he rasped when it was clear she was waiting for a response.

"Seventy-four people died in New York City that day. In a ten block radius. Not too terrible, given how many people actually live and work in the city. But terrible enough for them, for their families, for all that relied on them. _Seventy-four."_

"It's less than it could have been. If Thanos had his way—"

Natasha lifted the hand not holding the candelabrum. "That's neither here nor there. The fact is, seventy-four people died."

His eyes watered as he contemplated her. "You're going to make me remember them, aren't you?" There was a thread of fear in his voice. "I can't take on more souls of the dead."

"You can, and you will."

Setting down the candelabrum on his bedside table, Natasha smiled sweetly as she removed a single candle. "They're just the dead, Loki. We're responsible for the lives we take. It's our job to remember them properly."

He watched her, dread etched into his features. "I've been good—"

"Yes, you have. Wanda really enjoys the discussions on magic and reading the texts that you told Thor to get for her. The building designs were lovely; you really have an eye for architecture and aesthetics. You remember all eighty names of the Stuttgardt victims, and FRIDAY tells me that you were researching them, to really know about them."

"This burden—"

"So you understand the gravity of your crimes. This is your weregild, if you will. And now we move on to the Battle of New York."

Loki shivered and gave her a plaintive look. "Do you really think I'm ready for this?"

"Of course you are. I take care of you, don't I?" she asked, voice light. She put her hand on his bare chest, over his heart. "Lie still as we go through the names, Loki. Just remember, you can handle everything."

She wondered idly what he had been meditating on when she had come in, to be so fragile already. Usually she had to get a session really going before he dropped into this submissive state of mind, but he was already here.

He howled when the first drop of candle wax fell to his bare chest. "I was startled," he said mulishly when she chuckled. "You surprised me."

"The name," she replied idly.

Drip-drop-drip. Every time his attention wandered, when he stumbled over the names of the dead from New York, there were double or triple drips. There was only a single one for each name correctly recited. Staying still, Loki looked at her desperately as he spoke, tension evident. His limbs trembled slightly, and he jerked in more than surprise when each drop of wax fell to his skin, then cooled. Seventy-four names, and his voice was hoarse at the end as if he had been screaming each one.

Natasha put the candle back in the candelabrum when she was done. Sweat beaded Loki's temples, making his hair stick to his skin in sickly clumps. She ran her hands over the wax covered chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. "Fire frightens you."

"I could do this, you said."

"And you did."

His eyes shut tightly. "It's just a candle," he said in a small voice.

Picking off some of the wax, Natasha rolled it between her fingers. "Did someone burn you?"

He managed to flinch even with his eyes closed, jaw clenched. "No."

"But threatened to," Natasha guessed.

"Yes."

The word was ground out, seemingly just as difficult as the names had been for him. She picked off more of the wax, but this had hardened too much to roll like putty. She soothed the skin beneath the wax gently. "Do you think I would?"

"No."

"But you're afraid."

"Yes."

Natasha bent her head down and kissed the reddened skin. His breath hissed in, shocked and uncertain, his hand jerking up to catch her shoulder. "You know I won't burn you. I'm here to take care of you. Protect you from yourself."

He closed his eyes, lips pressed together in unhappiness. He seemed almost ashamed of himself, so Natasha scraped off more of the solidified wax and kissed the skin as it was exposed. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, and by the time she reached his stomach, she could hear his muffled sobs. "It's so hard to trust," she murmured, lips hovering over the rise of his hip bone. When she raised her eyes to look at his face, she could see him biting his lip almost hard enough to break skin and make it bleed.

Moving swiftly, she straddled him and caught his hands and pinned them down on either side of his head. "Tell me what you're thinking," she demanded.

Loki's breath left in a pained gasp. "This was her death day."

"And I'm making you remember the dead."

He opened his eyes and looked at her with abject misery. "She would be so disappointed. I'm such a failure to her teachings."

Ah, crap. Why was she stuck with all the sticky emotions like this?

Letting go of his wrists, she cupped his face. "Did you think of that when you attacked New York?" she asked, voice soft.

"No. It was supposed to be easy. A show of force. Collapse your team, best your planet, take control." His eyes shone, but there weren't any further tears.

"If you couldn't have a place on Asgard, you'd have a place here," she guessed. He nodded in response, biting his lip again as if he was trying not to scream. She ran her fingers over them, soothed them apart, slipped the first joint of her pointer finger between his teeth. He wouldn't dare bite her, not when he was this fragile.

And he didn't. The look he shot her was of utter longing and desperation, and he clearly didn't know how to put the emotion into words. He was raised a prince, after all. He'd never had to ask for anything and always had to be a proud son of Odin.

"I'm making a place for you here, Loki," Natasha purred. Now there was hope in his eyes as well, and his tongue darted out to touch her finger. It was a slight and furtive movement, as if he didn't know if it would be well received. She smiled at him encouragingly, and lowered herself further down, propping herself up on her opposite elbow.

"A ledger is about balance. It's an accounting so you can see the results of your actions. They're still your choices to make, and you have to choose which way your balance will tip."

He pulled her hand from his mouth and tenderly kissed the inside of her wrist. "Sometimes, I don't want to choose," he admitted, eyes dropping in shame. His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, as if she had flayed him with her words.

"Then let me choose for you," Natasha murmured, pressing herself against him. She lowered the rest of her body down over his, the white silk of her dress a flimsy barrier between their skin. "I will show you what I want you to do."

Loki let out a choked sound, eyes falling shut again. She cradled his head to her chest and let him sob brokenly, until he was wrung out and boneless. The candles had all guttered out by then, and his room was dark and oppressive without the flickering light.

"I want you to be better," she whispered against his temple, rocking him gently. He clung to her, whimpering, as if he could slide beneath her skin and merge with her body to keep him safe. She ran her hand along his back, stroking him gently, then cupped his ass to pull him closer to her. His breath hitched, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck. "You will be better. I'll make sure of it. I expect no less, and you can do it."

"Please don't tell Thor," Loki whispered brokenly. "Please. That I'm weak and stupid. That you've wrecked me."

"I didn't," Natasha lied, voice gentle. "I'm building you up into something better."

He didn't seem to realize that she never directly answered his plea.

***

Loki had felt Frigga's death in his prison cell on Asgard. The link between teacher and student had been strong, and augmented by the mother-son relationship. He had wanted to hurt her, wanted to deny that relationship so that she could feel even a fraction of the pain he'd felt when he discovered he wasn't truly her son, only a forgotten and discarded relic that had been scooped up as an afterthought. But then the pain had ripped through him, and there was nothing but fury and regret, the desperate need to get revenge and prove himself a true son, even if he hadn't been born of her body and blood.

Time flowed differently between the realms, but he knew that this was Frigga's death day. He had been denied the ceremony afterward, the opportunity to help light her way to Helheim with all of the others. He was a traitor to Asgard, dangerous and cunning, someone they all thought of as irredeemably evil. If that was all he was, it was all he could ever be.

All he had now was this dark room and the soft clothes that resembled the plainer garb of his imprisonment on Asgard. The fabric was soft, especially after being flogged or whipped or having a knife trace lines into his back. He had been hard and cruel in Stuttgardt, so it was only fair that Natasha would be physically hard and cruel in kind. It was a comfort of sorts, all he deserved, and her aftercare was as puzzling as it was so very necessary for him.

He was confused, and he _hated_ that feeling.

Sitting in the dark, he could meditate, but his mind ran in tortured circles. He imagined himself with athame in hand, carving ritual sigils into his flesh, watching the blood run down. It was a brilliant ruby red in his imagination, though he thought it might be a thick, oily ichor instead. He wasn't Asgardian, after all. Wasn't truly much of anything, and the sigils for the spell working would have to do his bidding even though it was supposed to be Asgardian magic. It was all he had, all he was good at, and none of it was supposed to be his to command. Just as well that it was stripped of him now, and the sigils he knew were useless under his fingers. He couldn't reshape reality, couldn't will anything into existence. Loki could never again feel that kind of power, because he didn't deserve it, didn't earn it, didn't maintain any trust in it.

Loki was broken, so very broken, in need of fixing, and there was no one willing to do it, not when he constantly fell apart again.

Then Natasha came in, white dress and candelabra in hand, looking like the angels of mortal stories. His soul at once sang out and cowered, because he was already beaten down and broken on this day. The natural fear of fire was there, horrible memories, and scenarios that were never likely to happen but still haunted his nightmares. Natasha was ethereal, a beacon in his darkness, a creature that frightened and drew him closer.

It was terrifying to think of learning new names. The eighty from Stuttgardt were easy now, the syllables of their names familiar and almost comforting to count to the whistle of a crop coming down onto his back. That was right, that was fair, he deserved it. He was a monster. There was nothing else he deserved, so there was no point in avoiding this. This was more of the same, but the grief wrapped around him made him afraid more than he should have been.

When a boy on Asgard, sitting at Frigga's feet, he had looked up with an eager grin, hoping to hear of the bloody stories and magical conquest. The fire had been warm and comforting, and the creepy shadows across her face had added to the atmosphere of the story. Now, the memory contorted, and he shivered in fear.

Natasha was stern but fair. She didn't accept weakness in him, and he had to meet her expectations. He had to rise to the challenge, had to be honest with her, had to be strong even when he felt ready to shatter to pieces. So of course he admitted it was Frigga's death day, that he was a failure to her teachings, that she would be so disappointed in him. Not surprised, no, because what else was he but a failure? And even worse, his plaintive request not to tell Thor, ah, the _ergi_ he held was immense.

She cradled him and stroked his back, and he wept as his heart broke. He was a broken thing, had never really known it until the lies were exposed. It was easy to overlook problems if he wasn't supposed to have any, of course. And now, he was bereft of illusions. There were no tricks to fall back on, only his own wanting soul, the knowledge that he deserved no better.

 _I'm building you up into something better,_ Natasha said, her voice a husky croon. He wanted to believe her so badly, wanted to think he had a place, that he could belong somewhere and not be the monster in the dark. 

But he was a monster, and monsters didn't deserve happy endings. They didn't deserve a place in the world, didn't deserve affection or care.

Loki was greedy and selfish, and he would hang onto whatever he could get, deserving or no.

***

In the weeks after that night, Loki remained in his bedroom if not specifically commanded to work with the others. There was no spark in his eyes at all, even when Wanda challenged his ideas of magic and how the realms worked. His knowledge of math and physics was superb, but he merely turned away with a listless shrug. "It's different for you, then," was all he said in reply to her questions. There wasn't even an insult, which Wanda reported to Natasha with an almost frightened air.

"I think he's depressed," Wanda said, biting her lip. "Can Asgardians get depressed?"

"We're all traumatized in some way," Natasha told her gently. "We don't risk our lives to protect others without something driving us." She smiled at Wanda's stunned expression, and patted the girl's hand gently. "We turn it into something to make us stronger. To give us a purpose. We turn our trauma into a weapon to help others."

"He has no purpose, really," Wanda murmured, nodding slightly. She looked at Natasha with an uncertain expression. "I don't know if I like him. Does that sound awful?"

"It's honest," Natasha temporized.

"The others all have this history with him, and I really don't. Not until I joined the Avengers. I read the stories, I saw the files. But it doesn't strike me the same way, like I feel no emotions at all about him. I don't even feel sorry about the way I bound up his magic like I did. I mean, I'm sorry it hurt him at first, but the fact that he is without it..." Her eyes trailed down to her ringed fingers, as tendrils of red energy curled around her hand and even swept around Natasha's as it remained on her hand. "I don't know how I'd feel without my magic, and it hasn't been a part of me for all of my life."

"We didn't break him, Wanda," Natasha said carefully, tightening her grip on the younger woman's hand. "He was broken long before he crossed our path, long before any of us knew who he was or why he was starting all that trouble in New York City. There are some people who are just empty. They have feelings and emotions and concerns, but don't know how to direct them, so they just reflect back whatever they see around them. Then take it all away..."

"That's lonely. All he has is you and me."

"A lot of that he did on his own."

Wanda nodded unhappily, not removing her hand from Natasha's tight grip. "Sometimes I wish I still had my mother. When the magic came, at first I was excited. It made me special in a good way. I wasn't some orphan anymore, I wasn't some lost Roma that was ignored or cast aside any longer. I thought I had to get even with Tony Stark and your superhero kind, that it was the only way any of you would see me."

Natasha didn't say anything, just tilted her head to the side as she contemplated the quietly spoken words. "Do you think she would have told you anything different?" she asked finally.

"She seemed wise, my mother. All mothers do, I suppose."

"I suppose," Natasha echoed. She didn't remember her mother, and to be honest wasn't even sure if the graves she had found in Russia had truly been her parents or not. Too much of her memory and identity had been stolen and erased over the years without her consent, and she couldn't trust what little objective information she had found.

"She wanted me and Pietro to be good people. Good Roma, good children, but good people." Her wilted smile faded entirely. "Sometimes it's hard to remember that."

"But you do remember that, Wanda. Even the fact that you care? It's more than most people have anymore. You care about the choices that you make, about the consequences of your actions. You will fight for what you believe in. You're willing to make the sacrifice play."

Wanda looked at Natasha with a pained expression. "I don't know if that is what she would want for me. Or that I bury my head and ignore the pain that he feels when I might do something about it. I did this to him. I locked away his magic. I turned him into nothing."

Natasha grasped Wanda's hand so tightly that the bones rubbed together painfully. "No. This wasn't your doing. This is whatever is going on in his head, Wanda. I won't tell you his thoughts because you don't want to know them. But this isn't your fault. This isn't you. What he's feeling is what he's feeling, and it has nothing to do with you." She paused and pressed her lips together for a moment. "Some of it is grief. He was angry with Frigga, but she's dead and she's the one he always looked up to as a mother."

"Would talking to her spirit help bring him closure?"

"I don't know. I could ask, if it means that much to you."

"I want to be more than a tool that the Baron crafted," Wanda admitted softly. "I am me, something more than me... I don't want to be kind that inflicts pain out of joy, or uses this talent to hurt others." Her expression wilted as she took in Natasha's expression. "I did that, and it wasn't kind, it wasn't helpful, it wasn't _good._ I know I must have disappointed my mother, but I believed the Baron's lies. I wanted to believe them, just like I had wanted to believe Ultron's lies. I'm trying to be better, but not at the expense of breaking someone else."

Grasping Wanda's hand, Natasha pulled her in close for a tight hug. "You are so much more than a weapon, Wanda," she insisted. "You're not a tool, you're a person. _A good person,_ because you're trying so hard to be. You're making all the choices you need to, and you're taking all the steps to get you on that path. _I am proud of you,"_ she said, giving her an extra little squeeze. "You've done so much and come so far, and that is more than what most do."

Letting out a soft choking sound, Wanda squeezed her back. "Thank you. So many don't understand it, that I feel so torn sometimes..."

"I understand better than you know," Natasha murmured. "I might not be anybody's mother, but I'm your CO here," she said, pulling back with a fond smile. "And _I'm_ proud of you. If anyone else can't see that, they'll need to answer to me."

Wanda was visibly better after their conversation, with a smile on her face and shoulders set back in a more confident stance. She would likely seek out Vision, maybe work with Steve or Sam for further training formations. She would study, she would look herself in the eye in the mirror and try to stay on the path she set for herself.

Natasha was absolutely proud of her and her compassion. _I turned him into nothing._

No, Wanda hadn't done that. Natasha had helped accelerate that process.

***

Loki cracked his eyes open as bright and unforgiving light flooded his room. It was a chaotic mess around him, though he couldn't really remember the destructive whirlwind. His memory wasn't a sieve, nothing so dramatic as all that, but his emotions were a tangled mess that he was unable to sort out. There was no outlet via magic or trickery, not when he was essentially all alone and had only the computer as company. Torturing himself with the lives of his victims pricked and burned, gouged the hollows deeper, and he wasn't nearly so self destructive that he wanted to cut his body apart. It was less of a physical destruction that he knew he needed, but an emotional one.

The door opened and Natasha walked in. She stopped short at the sight of his room, the shades pulled down and ripped apart with Loki's bare hands, the furniture kicked and splintered, clothing strewn around and torn to shreds, holes punched in walls, and Loki himself sprawled across the floor when the energy had burned itself out of him and he collapsed.

She was dressed casually, indicating that she hadn't come in from a mission. Her downtime clothing was easy to move in, still dark colored at times, but with brightly colored accents that hinted of the playful personality she hid from others. Loki wished he knew how to unlock her as easily as she unlocked him, that he knew how to get this awful energy out of him, how to rein in his temper and keep himself from getting twisted into knots. He wanted and _wanted,_ and he didn't always know how to get it.

Picking her way through the detritus of his few belongings, Natasha had an impassive expression even though her eyes missed nothing. "You were busy."

"Now you see me."

He'd said that before, he remembered, wrung out with grief and anger and _rage_ so thick it choked him and he didn't know what to do with it. It had given Thor pause, too, but it had been ignored and cast aside as everything else had always been. Loki's wants or needs weren't considered, or dismissed as irrelevant.

Natasha sat beside him daintily and crossed her legs, taking in the way he hadn't moved yet seemed to retreat into himself. She took his hand gently, startling him; he had expected her to be just as dismissive of this, calling it a tantrum.

"I've always seen you, Loki. You didn't tell me I was neglecting you."

Startled, Loki choked on his breath. "Wh-what?"

"I'm responsible for you and your wellbeing. Did you think I wouldn't come if you needed me? Did you think I would leave you alone when you felt like this?"

That wasn't what he had expected at all, and he frowned deeply as he cautiously sat up. "This... This is weakness."

Lifting his hand to her lips, she pressed a kiss over the pulse point of his wrist. "Is this weakness, Loki?" she asked, voice soft and lilting.

"You could kill me. Rip at my veins with your teeth."

Giving him a saucy smile that got his cock stirring, she brought her teeth to his wrist but didn't bite down. "This, you mean?" she asked, before putting her teeth back to his wrist and then pressing in.

Loki's breath caught and he could feel the heaviness settle between his legs. Oh, he wanted this so much, the push and pull between destruction and release, the way that he could be poised over a razor's edge and fall in either direction. "Yes," he whispered, mouth dry and eyes fixed on the gleaming teeth at his skin.

She pressed harder, watching how he reacted to it. His breathing was uneven and heavy, lips parted and eyes locked on her. "You court danger," she said, lifting her mouth from his skin. The disappointment he was about to feel was stopped short when her nails curled into the dents from her teeth. The sting was exquisite, and he couldn't help the low moan that escaped him. There was an amused light in her eyes, very different from the first time she had struck him with the riding crop. "It makes you feel alive, doesn't it?" she asked.

He wanted to lie, wanted to rip his arm out of her grasp and set to assaulting her in earnest, striking the smirk out of her eyes. But she _saw_ him, truly saw him, and it didn't frighten her as much as it frightened him.

"Sometimes it's the only time I do."

"It doesn't always have to be in penance," Natasha murmured. There was a mournful note there, something that sounded odd even though the syllables seemed practiced.

"But I know them. The names, the people. The lives I took. I know them and I feel them and I can't stop thinking about it. But it has to end. I need to make it stop, and I _can't."_

"It's why you always goaded Thor, isn't it?" Natasha asked, raking her nails down the inside of his forearm.

Loki's breath whistled out from between his teeth, a delicious pleasure that was so overwhelming he couldn't even reply. All he could do was nod, and she did it again. He couldn't even be ashamed of the whine in his throat, not when it felt too good and he needed more of this kind of touch. It was irrational, he couldn't explain it when he didn't understand why he felt that way, but his blood sang, his heart raced, and everything in him was poised to _run_ and he could feel so much in that moment that it was addicting.

"Danger, but a controlled kind of danger." She gave him an assessing glance, almost cold and impersonal, as if she was comparing blemishes on fruit at the store. "Could you tolerate it if I left for a moment? I can improvise here if you can't, but I'd rather use proper tools."

 _Tools._ Loki licked his lips and nodded again, not sure how to put the anticipation into words. "Just a moment," he told her when he realized she was waiting for clarification, voice hoarse and scratchy.

"I'll get my tools. You will clear a path from the door to the bed, and you will lie on it waiting for me to return."

Was it wrong of him to want this so badly? To need it as much as he breathed? It almost didn't even matter if it was wrong, because Natasha was already rising to her feet in a fluid movement that made his mouth water. He wanted to bury his face between her thighs and lick into her, make her come so many times she would hiss out of oversensitivity. He wanted to feel her nipple pebble on his tongue, wanted to slide his fingers inside of her slick channel and feel the muscles tighten around him as she found her pleasure. He wanted to have his cock inside her, a blissful expression on her face. It would directly tell him that he was good enough, that he was worthy, that he could do whatever she asked of him and not fail. It was easy, it was pleasurable, and he could do this gladly.

Magic would have cleared the room in no time, but he had only his hands and the sheer determination to get her path free of debris before her return. Organized chaos, after a fashion, and he stripped the remnants of his clothes from his frame. He had lost some muscle mass, not training as he used to. Did this displease her? Loki had always been slender, used to slipping through the shadows, and even at his weakest was stronger than a human. But he was mortal himself now, just as weak as the rest of the masses on this planet.

He wasn't a god. He wasn't anything anymore. Honestly, there was something freeing about that.

She returned with a roll of picks, pins, knives and assorted small cutting tools. She didn't explain what she used them for, and he would have assumed that lock picking and small extracting items were sometimes necessary for a spy. He watched wordlessly as her outstretched hand hovered over the unrolled collection of tools.

"I'm pleased with how well you followed instructions," she said, voice husky. "How are you with knives and blood?"

Loki wanted to laugh in relief. Was that all? "I've always had an affinity for smaller blades."

Natasha smirked at him, and he knew his cock twitched in response to it. "I'm a blade as well as a whetstone, you know," she said in conversational tones. "Let's sharpen you."

The knife she selected was small and curved but wickedly sharp. At his curious expression, she grinned. "Canvas trimmer. It'll slice through skin as easily as air."

"You plan to cut me." There was no fear in him at all, just an anticipatory stillness.

"I might. I might not have to."

The blade against his skin was sharp, so sharp, and he shivered at the contact. Natasha traced whorls and patterns across his chest with the knife in her left hand, and her right hand grasped his hip to keep him still. No slices yet, then. Loki wasn't sure if he should be disappointed, but also knew that Natasha would never push him past what he could endure. He didn't have to make her stop because she wouldn't betray that trust and he didn't _want_ her to stop. He could take it all, could earn her praise, could fall inside her spell and stay there.

Her nails dug into his backside as the knife skittered across his belly. So tender and soft, easy to slice open and let his entrails fall out. "Tell me what you're thinking," she purred.

"I want you," he said, shivering a little. "However I may. If you want my mouth on you or my fingers, if you want me to fuck you, I'm yours."

"Is that all it would be? Fucking?" she asked. Why did she sound almost sad about that?

"It would be whatever you wanted it to be."

"Good answer. But still evasive."

Loki grinned, teeth sharp as his lips pulled back. Beautiful and edged like the blade in her hand, she knew just how to twist his words. "I want what you'll give me. I want how I feel like this."

"So anyone could do this for you."

"You understand it," Loki disagreed, shaking his head. "You're the one in control." He never was, was he? But she gave him a sense of closure, that he could indeed be whole someday, that he didn't need to constantly war with others and himself.

Natasha laughed. "Loki, don't you know how this works? You have as much control, if not more. If this ever gets too much for you to handle, it ends."

"But..."

The knife skimmed down to his groin, tracing the underside of his cock. "I watch to make sure it's what you can handle. But if it isn't, it ends. You've always held that kind of control."

Deep down, he had always known that the Avengers were heroes, that they wouldn't have killed him outright no matter how much he deserved it. Perhaps that was why he had come after them so often. _See me, hear me,_ know _me,_ he could have said. If the words were truly that simple, if the action would have been accepted. He was too scarred, too awful, too much of a monster within this now-mortal skin.

"Take it from me," Loki whispered, voice breaking. "It doesn't make sense, I don't know why. But I need you to take it from me."

Gingerly dragging the tip of the knife along his cock, Natasha traced his balls and then the soft perineum. "You'd trust me riding your cock with my knife at your throat."

"You have control enough not to kill me."

"But you could kill yourself."

Was it cowardice that had kept him from killing himself? The shiver along the back of his mind unfurled, and maybe he would never know.

"Not if I have you," he said, voice breaking. "There's no one else that can do this." He gulped a breath and then closed his eyes. "No one else I trust."

It was a long way from the helicarrier indeed.

The knife was pulled away and then her fingers replaced them. He wasn't sure if he should be disappointed by that or not, and gasped when her right hand left his hip to grasp some other tool from her collection. "What are you—?"

"You trust me," she said, a corner of her mouth quirking up. He felt something small and sharp on the inside of his thigh as her hand massaged his balls. "Do you trust me still?"

"Yes," he said instantly, and her gaze softened.

"Maybe you shouldn't."

She was the only one he did trust, and it had nothing to do with the desire he had for her. While she could be duplicitous and deliciously cruel, she was also exceedingly fair and had treated him in a straightforward manner this time around. Loki might have been hiding from consequences for a long time, but Natasha was making him face them in a controlled way.

Loki grabbed her right hand, the one with the pointed tool, and held it in place. Natasha flicked her eyes at him, expression impassive. "We have ledgers," he said carefully, then pulled the point further into his flesh. "The weight and balance." She began to resist him when he pulled harder, intending to break the skin. "You won't let me tip."

"It should be that _you_ won't let you tip."

 _I'm not ready for that,_ he nearly said aloud. He might never be, actually. But he only parted his lips and tugged on her hand again. "You won't let me fall. I know that."

"I could."

"But you won't. The trust goes both ways, you said. I trust you won't let me fall, and you trust that I'll tell you when I'm too close."

"You didn't say anything before destroying your room."

Loki frowned slightly, then let go of her hand. "I didn't know I could." 

She lifted her right hand and he saw the lock pick that she had pressed into his skin. "You don't know what you need or when. I need to pay closer attention to that."

Something in him preened and sang at the thought of her paying closer attention to him. He would be the center of her world, and she wouldn't ever leave. She would keep him in check, and he wouldn't ever have to fear that she would find him wanting or get driven away. Everything else in his life had soured or been tainted in some way, at least this would never change.

Bringing a blade against his bare chest, Natasha actually broke the skin by using the edge instead of the spine. Loki's breath hissed in through his teeth, and he caught his torn sheets inside of his fists rather than try to touch her again.

"Painful?" she asked, voice neutral. He laughed at her, and she merely waited with a lofted brow until he shook his head. "No safe words, remember?"

"Of course," he said, grinning with all of his teeth bared. "It's what I wanted. I want you to make me scream. I want you to push me."

The edge of the blade ran along the inside of his arm then. "There's an artery just here. It won't take much to make you bleed out."

He gave her a look that he knew was filled with longing and acceptance. "Then do it."

Instead, the spine of the blade ran along the length of the artery, and she instead used the tip to cut lines into the skin of his chest, just over his heart. "You're afraid," she said quietly. "It gives you a fractured edge, but that doesn't keep you sharp. It keeps you moving, constantly running, always looking for something else that will make you feel alive."

Loki froze, feeling the sting from the cut. In his peripheral vision he could see blood welling up, could see her reach down to touch it with her fingers. He was almost dizzy, cut as much by the truth as the blade. "Natasha..."

"That's why there's no closure," she continued. Her voice was soft, lulling, gentle. "There's nothing to stitch the wound shut when you don't even know why it's there. So you're afraid. No one will see you, no one will know you, no one will value you. You're a shadow, easily forgotten and left behind."

He was choking, drowning in the very fear that she was describing. Oh, he was flayed to the bone, and it wasn't as beautiful as it had seemed to be earlier. Maybe because she didn't seem to be happy about the revelation, didn't seem to be proud to be announcing this. She brought her fingers to his lips, coating them with his own blood. The tang seemed bitter and awful now, not the triumphant proof that he had survived the machinations of others.

She dipped her fingertips into his blood and painted his skin with symbols, as if she could wield magic and was binding him with the strongest of spells. His breathing evened out, less fearful, less uncertain of her.

"That's it," she murmured, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. "You don't have to be afraid, Loki. I have you now. I've got this. I might have missed some details, but I can course correct. I can fix this."

"Thank the Tree," Loki murmured, not realizing he had spoken aloud until she chuckled.

"Not so fast. We've barely begun. Because you see, you've been hiding in here. And I won't let you do it for much longer."

Loki almost wanted to ask what she meant by that, but then her bloody fingers were in his mouth and he knew without being told that he was to suck on them. He licked her fingers clean, and then those same fingers were dragged down the length of his cock as the spine of the blade danced along the skin of chest. Oh, gods, she was stroking his cock with one hand and taunting him with the other, and all he could do was tighten his grip on the bed to keep from plunging the knife deep into his own belly. It was good, so good, that edge of terror heightening his senses and giving him an extra thrill. He was alive, alive, he should be dead, as far gone as any of the victims he was paying penance for, and yet he lived and could experience this and Natasha tightened her grip on his cock while the palm stroked the head and the spike of pleasure was so intense he found himself nearly screaming in Allspeak as he came—

Natasha was seated beside him when he was fully aware of himself next, carding his hair with her fingers. The tool kit was covered and out of sight, his room otherwise still a tangled mess. The cuts had been shallow, but she had still cleaned and bandaged them, and she was watching him closely as his awareness returned. Her smile was soft and tender, comforting and caring in a way he hadn't seen directed at him since Frigga.

"I'll take care of this," she said, voice low and husky. "I'll work through the parts that make it difficult, and remake you into something beautiful, I promise."

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist with a grateful smile.

***

He was uncomfortable outside of the small suite, but Natasha still pulled Loki into one of the common areas in the base. Dressed simply and in the darker colors he seemed to prefer, Loki tucked his hair behind his ears and seemed out of place. His eyes darted everywhere, and his lips were slightly pinched as he took in every exit to the room. He had started to protest, but she had twirled a lock pick between her fingers and then he had fallen silent.

Most of the others didn't really take much notice of him, but Loki stiffened when Thor caught sight of his trademark green and black. "Brother!" he boomed in a jovial manner. "This must be a joyous day indeed."

"Oh?" he asked, attempting a disaffected tone of voice. Natasha knew better by now that he was contemplating running away again.

"Aside from your teaching duties, I haven't seen you. Natasha assured me that you were well looked after, and that I shouldn't worry." He smiled, a bright and blinding grin that made Loki nearly squirm in discomfort. "I see now this was indeed a good path for you. You always enjoyed the theoretic work more than I did."

The corner of Loki's mouth twitched and tightened, and his eyes darted sideways, away from Thor's earnest expression. "Indeed," he said, voice level.

Natasha looped her arm through Loki's and smiled at Thor. "Sometimes we all need a little guidance to find the right path. Isn't that right?"

"I am glad that we're here to ease the way. When I was sent to Earth as a mortal, I didn't have as much support. Life on this planet can be odd, that's for certain."

She could see the faint trace of confusion in Loki's eyes, that he had expected to be hounded and cursed, perhaps beaten for his part in the deaths he had caused. She tightened her grip on his arm, giving him something to ground him. "We're all working on correcting the injustices we see along the way," she murmured.

"An accounting for the ledger," Loki murmured.

Thor smiled and nodded. "Most excellent. I promised I would meet Jane to discuss one of her latest research projects. Otherwise, I would stay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Natasha couldn't help but smile at the way Thor's relieved expression took the tension right out of the rest of his body. "Splendid," he said. "I look forward to hearing your thoughts on some of the recent disturbances in the magical world."

Once Thor left the compound, there was still Wanda to talk to, officially meeting Sam Wilson, then seeing the rest of the Avengers with varying levels of suspicion and hostility. Natasha had no intention of lessening the impact of that meeting for Loki, not when it was important for him to learn that he could survive it.

He was afraid of consequences, of staying in one place long enough for others to realize he wasn't as confident or powerful as he claimed. Natasha knew that kind of anxiety, but her fear was honed to a razor's edge and was part of what had kept her alive. She knew how to use fear, but few others did. So when Loki's attention strayed or he started feeling comfortable enough in his own skin to start making cutting remarks toward the others, she touched the lock picks that she had used to pin her hair up in place. Loki froze then, eyes locked on her every motion, until her hand dropped back to her side.

Loki was learning, even if he didn't have his own internal compass to follow. This was good, and Natasha found it very promising.

"Should we find a way for you to earn your magic back?" Natasha asked one evening, after he had shattered upon returning to his room. He was on his hands and knees, sobbing in front of her and all but wailing after teaching Wanda about several of his favorite spells.

He looked up at her with a devastated expression. "It's not to be. She stripped me of who I am, what I am. She didn't know what she was going to do, none of you did. How can you return a piece of me that was ripped away and stolen?"

"From what I understand, it was less that it was ripped away and more that it was locked away. So you can't use it right now, but it's still there, waiting to be restored."

"Pretty words," Loki grumbled, sniffling. "But still not mine to control."

Natasha knelt beside him and grasped the hair at the nape of his neck. "Even if your magic was yours again, it would be _mine_ to control."

There wasn't even a flash of irritation in his eyes. If anything, there seemed to be relief. "Oh."

She ran her fingernail along the back of his neck, making him shiver. "You thought I'd have no use for you then?"

His lips trembled, and his eyes shifted, so Natasha shook him. If he had planned to lie to her, she would get irritated.

"The thought occurred to me," he said finally. "You seem kinder when I'm broken."

"Caring for someone isn't always kindness." Natasha yanked hard on his hair, exposing his throat so that she could run her nails down it. "This isn't kind, is it? But it's still caring for you. It's giving you what you need."

Loki's lips parted. "If I had my magic, I could break you."

"Who would you play with, then?" she asked coolly.

That seemed to give him pause, and the tension bled out of him abruptly. "I don't know."

"That's right," she said in a stern, firm voice, lips flattening out. "And that you would question this is a problem."

Abruptly, she let go of his hair and gave his head a push toward the floor. "You're going to stay here until I come back for you. You're going to think about this," she said, voice and gaze pitiless and stern. "Maybe, if I don't find you lacking, we can discuss this further."

Before he could say anything else, she strode from the room and had FRIDAY seal the door.

***

It wasn't Natasha that came for him, but Thor. Loki didn't know how to feel about that, and sat on the floor where he was, still surrounded by the broken remnants of furniture and clothing that had been replaced after his last outburst. He didn't care if Thor saw this; he had seen as much before when Frigga had died. _Now you see me, brother._

Everything hurt, and he always destroyed the very thing he wanted most.

"Natasha said you were being punished."

"So I am."

Loki was proud of himself for not sounding anything other than bored and tired. Thor seemed disappointed by that kind of response, but weren't they all destined to be disappointed in some way? He had thought himself a prince, that he would advise Thor the King. Or that he could have been a wise and just King himself one day. But what kind of Allfather would he have made, if he liked being hurt and thought terribly of himself? What kind of Allfather would he be to feel as though he deserved nothing less than the punishments meted out on this world?

"We've all made mistakes," Thor said slowly, appearing thoughtful and somewhat uncertain of himself. It was an expression that Loki couldn't recall ever seeing on his face before.

"What of yours, then?" Loki asked. He couldn't quite make himself sound snide or cruel. Had he lost his edge when he lost his godhood? Humanity had dulled him so much.

"Perhaps we could start over again, brother."

"Why would you want to do such a thing?" Loki asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed Thor. Something in his chest was tight and uncomfortable, a sharp and awful feeling that seemed to claw up into his throat. He was almost afraid to breathe.

He didn't come closer, which was good. If he had, Loki might have attacked him, screaming and raving just to keep him away. Thor still had that thoughtful look on his face as he stood in the doorway, and just seeing it made Loki's throat tighten further.

"I have fond memories of our childhood," he said, still speaking slowly, as if finding the words strange to say. "I never thought of them as terrible, or something to run from. I never thought of it as a shadow to live under as you put it." He held up a hand when Loki opened his mouth to speak, almost as if he was afraid of losing his momentum. "But I am not you, Loki. I don't understand much of what you had studied in the magic arts, and watching your lessons with Wanda only confirms that I have no interest in such things."

Loki waited for Thor to collect his thoughts. "I don't know what it costs you, to learn such things and make it look easy. Or the derision of warriors, what that would have done to you, when you still have skill with blades. Growing up, I thought we were the same. That we were close."

"Once, perhaps," Loki allowed when Thor seemed to expect a response.

"We cannot be the same boys we once were, and to believe so would be to court madness. I cannot trust in you the way I once did. There are some things that I can count on, perhaps, but it is not trust." Thor's words were slow, precise, and felt like getting struck with Mjolnir. "I still count you as my brother, and I still love you as one. No matter how often you tell me that we are not brothers, I still call you brother."

His throat was thick with unshed tears. "I still say the same of you at times," Loki admitted.

Thor nodded. "I don't know the man you've become. I thought I knew the boy you once were, but apparently I did not. Here, there are no expectations for you to meet as there are on Asgard. You are a mortal Midgardian right now. I'd like to start over. To see if we can indeed be brothers in more than just name."

"But _why?"_ Loki asked, feeling as though one of his blades was thrust into his chest.

"You're my brother, Loki. You felt lost and alone, and I did not see it. I would help if I could, if you let me." The expression on Thor's face was at once hopeful and accepting; he wouldn't force the issue if Loki was uncomfortable with it. Knowing that his boundaries would be respected, whatever they were, was an odd feeling.

"I am less than Asgardian here."

"More than a man, and free besides," Thor pointed out. "Not many can say the same." He pursed his lips slightly, and then continued. "I think I am better for my time here on Midgard."

"You will outlive Jane," Loki said, voice flat and hollow. He had said that before to needle Thor, to cause him pain. Now he didn't know why he would point out such a thing when he was mortal himself. He would be just as short lived as she.

"And I will mourn her," Thor agreed. "But it will not stop me from loving her now or even after her passing." He paused. "Do you worry about Natasha?"

"I am mortal now."

It wasn't the deflection he intended it to be, because Thor's expression crumpled slightly. "If that is so, I will mourn you, too."

Loki turned his face away from Thor, finding it difficult to breathe.

"You are loved, Loki," Thor continued, voice hushed and reverent. "You always were, always will be. You might anger us, disappoint us, lie to us... But you are still loved. No matter what else changes about you, that never will."

He had no reply to that, and at least waited until Thor left to begin crying.

***

Natasha had been angry, but not with Loki as she had made it sound. She was angry with _herself,_ for forgetting why he needed her to continually break and build him up. He was a twisted thing, broken edges grating each other and everything around him. He didn't know how else to be, since it was the only thing that had ever gotten him the recognition he craved. Loki didn't know how to ask for things, didn't know how to be kind. It hadn't been something that was explicitly taught, not the way that fighting skills or his magic had been. Without those as a means to give himself a purpose, Loki was lost. Having him teach Wanda was salt in his wound, and to have him sitting in the common areas without truly being one of them had done little more than pick at his scabs.

He liked the pain because it was all he knew and could accept.

When she was calmer and able to deal with him dispassionately and appropriately, she returned to Loki's suite. Thor had been there in her absence, and it hadn't exactly tempered Loki much. His eyes were red and raw, and more of the debris in his room had been splintered into little pieces, as if he had repeatedly banged them into the walls or floor. She could ask FRIDAY later if she really needed to know, but it wasn't important now.

"What are we going to do with you, Loki?" she asked, voice low and husky.

Only his bed was untouched, and he seemed to be avoiding it. He had a fragment of a chair in his hands, sharp edge against his fingers. His expression was bleak as he looked up at her. "Am I to end it all, then? Am I to be finally free of this torment?"

"It's torment because you think it is."

"Thor was here. Why doesn't he hate me? Why doesn't he disown me?"

"Because he loves you."

Loki flinched and looked away, fingers pressing tight into the broken fragment. "He shouldn't."

"Sometimes the thing we think we want isn't all we thought it would be." She approached slowly, then reached her hand out for his. He misunderstood her, and turned over the fragment. Natasha promptly threw it to the side, then extended her hand again.

"You don't love me," he murmured.

"You wouldn't want that, would you?" she asked instead of answering.

He grasped her hand and let her pull him to his feet. "So you don't."

Natasha placed her free hand on his chest. "Who else could hurt you the way that you want it? Need it? Who else can you talk to about this?"

A shiver ran through him. "Weakness," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You have control in this situation, for all that it feels like you don't. But that's what makes it safe." She curled her fist in his shirt and pulled him closer. "I have all the control that you give me, and none of what you don't." Her kiss was savage and fierce, nipping at his lips in the way she knew he didn't like.

Loki gasped and wrenched himself away from her, chest heaving and eyes wild. "Why did you do that?" he asked, voice wretched.

"To prove to you that you can walk away without me getting angry," she said simply.

His lips trembled slightly. "Why do _you_ do this?"

Stalking forward, Natasha locked eyes with his. "Because I'm the one that knows how to do this. Because I'm the only one that can give you what you need. _Because I can,_ and I _will,_ and I will always be here to do it."

"What do you get out of it?" he demanded. "You can't care for me. Why are you doing this?"

"Balancing your ledger will add to the black in my own," she replied evenly, and she could see him mulling over the words to accept them.

"When I anger you—"

"I'll still be here."

"Why?" he asked, an agonized cry. "Why don't you all _leave?!"_

"Because there's something worth staying for," she said, voice soft and gentle. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him, gentle and deep to make up for the sharp bite.

Loki leaned into her kiss, a low moan of pleasure in his throat. Natasha walked backward, toward his bed, and he followed her obediently. Once she hit the bed, she fell back and pulled her with him, laughing a little when the breath rushed out of her and their kiss broke. He looked at her incredulously for a moment, then traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers as if she was something fragile that could shatter under his touch.

"I'm here," she murmured, shimmying backward a bit to get into a more comfortable spot. "I'm always going to be here."

He made a soft, desperate noise before diving in to kiss her again. Their clothes came undone in a tangled, halting mess, not even fully off of Natasha's body because Loki hadn't started with her shoes. Instead, her jeans and underwear were wadded down around her calves, and all he could do was finger her as he kissed her with all the desire he couldn't voice in words. She smiled against his mouth, confident that she had finally found the magic words that would calm him. He was afraid of the word _love,_ but he could accept _I'll stay._

She knew how frightening emptiness could be, and how utterly terrifying the stillness was when in the middle of a storm.

Loki kissed her, then moved to suckle a breast when she wasn't getting wet enough to easily finger her clit. Natasha had her hands tangled in his hair, her knees frogged open, and she was trying to make this as easy as possible for him. He was trembling, pulse rapid in his throat as he moved over her bared skin. "I'm here," she crooned, scratching lightly at his scalp. "I'll stay here with you. I'll stay."

Pulling his fingers away from her, he stuck them in his mouth and then brought them back to her folds. Ah, there was the slick glide she needed against her clit to keep it from being too rough and almost painful. She could easily give out pain, but she didn't enjoy it for herself. Too many memories could come back in that event, and that took any of the pleasure out of kink for her to be on the receiving end of it.

Natasha closed her eyes and moaned, giving herself over to the sensation of his mouth suckling a breast and his fingers inside of her and rubbing at her clit. Her inner muscles clenched down around nothing, and she tightened her fist in his hair. "Oh, there," she gasped, hips canted toward his hand. "Right there."

He took direction well, and continued to touch her. Periodically he dipped his fingers into her channel, starting to get wet with her own arousal. That made it feel even better when they came back to her clit, rubbing at a steady pace enough to get her to come. Loki didn't stop there, but switched breasts and kept right on going. Natasha arched up into his touch, letting out a keening noise as he found the perfect spot, the right place that could make her see stars if he kept at it long enough.

He did, he did, sucking hard on her nipple and making just the right around of pressure against her clit to make her come with a shout.

"God, in me, I need your cock in me," she gasped.

"The pants," he began, head raised up to look at her. His hand was still between her thighs, still moving against her clit and making her gasp and writhe.

"Fuck them. Just find a way to get your cock in me."

Loki didn't even have to think for very long. He disentangled himself from her when she was _right there_ and almost about to come again, which had her cursing in very creative Russian about how much of a bastard he was being. But then he flipped her over onto her stomach and guided his cock into her from behind. It was a more vulnerable position than one she usually preferred, but the slick glide of him as he thrust into her was too delicious to quibble over. She grasped at the blankets, pulling at them as she tilted her hips back into his thrusts. She could feel every inch inside of her, hitting a spot that had her moaning throatily and shuddering as it brought her closer and closer to the edge.

She went limp after coming this time, feeling oversensitive and wrung out. Loki shivered behind her, and his thrusts slowed down. Apparently, clenching down on his cock as she came had made him oversensitive as well.

Neither moved for a long time, struggling to get their breathing under control. His fingers finally traced the curve of her spine, the lines of her ribs. His breath hitched slightly, and then he bent over her, covering her body with his. "My life is yours," he whispered. "For as long as you want it to be."

Natasha reached behind her and pulled at his back. "I'm staying, you're staying," she said, voice a little breathless from all of her moans. "This isn't ending."

He had a soft laugh of gratitude, more of his weight sinking into her. "Thank the Norns."

"Feel better?"

Loki paused a moment to consider that. "Yes, I think I do."

She let him see the curl of a smile at the corner of her lips. "Good." Turning her head a bit, she let the smile widen. "Whatever life you build here, I'll be part of it."

Relief colored his expression, raw and painful to see. "And you'll stay."

"And I'll stay. We'll all stay."

He finally pulled out as his cock softened, and he knelt down to undo her boots to take off her jeans and underwear. His touch was reverent as he discarded the last of her clothes, though he left her socks alone. Loki tucked her into his bed and curled his body around hers, giving her his warmth while leaving his throat vulnerable.

 _Thank you,_ his gestures said, and Natasha pulled his arms tighter around her.

Sometimes words weren't necessary. She knew what he wanted to say and what he needed to say, and it wasn't important enough to speak them aloud. It was good enough that she knew what he meant, that she could give him the comfort and stillness he needed.

Good enough could still save a life, and the world.

The End


End file.
